Saving a Life
by But a Chance
Summary: The Grave Shift CSI's become concerned when one of their own falters.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own or profit from any of the CSI characters in this story.

**Summary: **The Graveyard shift is worried when one of their own falters.

**Saving a Life**

**Chapter 1**

**Personal Journal entry: 7-5-2010; 6:00 a.m. **

At this time, I'm at the mid-point to a professional consultation in Las Vegas, Nevada. I received a call July 2nd, 2010 from a former patient, one I helped a few years back. He asked for my assistance in helping a friend and colleague. He filled me in on the details, and after our phone conversation, he emailed files regarding his friend. This is an intriguing case, one for The American Journal of Psychiatry, but this case will never be release to any publications. That's not why I help those who serve our country and communities, and I certainly could not profit or self-promote at the expense of their experiences and pain.

From what I understand and read, this man is in a load of pain. He's spent years internalizing and compressing a very traumatic past, all in a valiant effort to move on, but the white knights armor is cracking. After reading his file, it's not surprising.

Six weeks ago, the 3rd shift _(appropriately named the graveyard shift)_ of LVPD'S Forensic Unit solved the highly publicized Jekyll serial killer case. The results of the case were three civilian victims brutally and systematically murdered by a sociopath; one Clark County Sheriff Deputy killed in the line of duty; one CSI _(my future patient)_ shot, but with non-life threatening injuries; and another CSI _(Dr. Ray Langston)_ stabbed outside a cell of LVPD's lockup _(Dr. Langston's incident was not directly related to the Jekyll serial case, but rather a different case Langston was involved in some time ago; The Dick and Jane murders, and Nate __Haskell. At this time, the reports from that case aren't available for my review.)_

In the weeks following the Jekyll case the unit began returning to some semblance of normalcy, but then a new situation developed. The Assistant Supervisor of the grave shift _(my new patient)_ began acting out of character; extremely out of character from what I've gleaned thus far. When asked via phone conversations between myself and his co-workers, they were hard pressed to say when or how it started. Each could point to single incidents, but none were related, and there was no reason for the outburst and anger. One moment their co-worker was utterly calm, the next, abrupt fury spewed. They explained these actions were out of character for their normally congenial friend. _(It seems as if they have their own Jekyll and Hyde of sorts.)_

In my opinion, this perceived abrupt behavioral change has actually been building for years. Given what I've read of the Assistant Supervisors past, it's not surprising. The outburst discussed by co-workers weren't the trigger, his troubles began long ago, and the Jekyll case only exacerbated the outcome. His colleagues and friends said they initially never saw it coming, but in hindsight all the signs were present. As the saying goes… hindsight is always 20/20. They added that my patient always told them everything was ok and he was fine, unfortunately the team took him at his word. In their defense, and from my understanding, their colleague was normally an open book, never evasive, and honest to a fault.

The first true recognition of trouble began about 1 ½ weeks ago _(Monday evening 6-28-2010.)_ As the Assistant Supervisor entered the lab to begin another shift, Judy _(the receptionist)_ accidently bumped into him and caused the files folders he carried to fall and scatter across the floor. Judy said he yelled: "Aw fuck, watch where the hell you're going klutz!" She was shocked and explained he didn't speak like this, and he certainly never insulted her.

Then according to her recollection, he said: "Are you going to pick those up, or stand there looking stupid?" Judy said she bent to pick up the files, but kept her head down to avoid any further verbal abuse and to escape his glare. She added: "From anyone else I could understand; I've heard it all before, but not from him. He's never treated me so poorly."

This seemed to be one of the first incidents the grave shift staff could recall, but as I said, it certainly wasn't the trigger. I made sure Judy understood this fact.

Later that evening, Greg Sanders _(CSI Level 3)_ and the Assistant Supervisor were called to a B&E _(Breaking and Entry)_ at the MGM Grand. They were walking the 14th floor corridor, to the vandalized guest room, when a door suddenly slammed from behind. Mr. Sanders relayed: "Suddenly I realized I was walking down the corridor by myself. I didn't see his initial reaction to the noise, but when I turned around he stood there stunned like, and was breathing heavy. At that point I asked: Are you ok? But, he didn't reply, so I asked again…Hey! Are you ok? His brows furrowed for a moment, he took a deep breathe, but didn't respond and then continued to walk to our B&E. No explanation." Mr. Sanders recounted that he thought the reaction was odd, but he didn't want to push because his friend is such a private person.

By Tuesday evening _(6-29-2010)_ co-workers said the tension radiating from their colleague was palpable. He was uncommonly distant, almost as if he were numb to everything. Two additional incidents occurred that night; one with David Hodges _(Trace Technician)_ the other with Bobby Dawson _(Ballistics Technician__) _

David Hodges claimed he and the Assistant Supervisor are close friends, and they always joke around with each other. He claimed that evening he made a humorous comment about his colleague looking worse for wear, but his joke was not well received, and his co-worker became angry and verbally abusive.

_(Call it gut instinct, but David Hodges' comments seemed off. I decided to question other co-workers about this so-called jovial relationship. I soon discovered their relationship is not close, and at times, less than cordial. Greg Sanders said David Hodges has a brusque personality, and that he actually witnessed what Hodges said to my patient: "You look like you were rode hard and put away wet…your latest conquest must be good in the sack?" To which my patient replied: "Fuck off Hodges!" Mr. Sanders said he didn't blame his friend for responding as such, and quite frankly, I agree. I am concerned David Hodges will speak with higher authorities in the department. Hodges has an agenda, one of self-promotion at any cost. I've always disliked kiss ass, brown noser's, and he's no exception. I've been informed this will not be an issue, but I will be diligent in protecting my patients well being, his privacy, and his career. I won't allow this Hodges character to interfere or disrupt. David Hodges seems quirky at best, but his issues are not my area of expertise, I'll leave that to someone else.) _

The incident with Bobby Dawson was a different matter entirely. Mr. Dawson was friendly and seemed warmhearted on the phone. The concern he expressed for his co-worker was absolutely genuine. Mr. Dawson described his account of the incident: "I was on my lunch break in the employee lounge when he entered. I noticed he was scowling, and seemed agitated as he poured a cup of coffee. I asked him if everything was ok, but he told me to mind my own business. That reply was so unlike him. I expressed my worry, explained I wanted to help, but suddenly he slammed his coffee mug on the counter. The mug shattered into pieces, cut his hand, and burned it in the process. Doctor, I was shocked…no…more so paralyzed by his reaction. Before I knew what was happening, he was in my face, and said I was the last person he needed help from. Then he just stormed out of the room."

It's obvious by Mr. Dawson tone that he's still affected by what he witnessed, and as I explained before, his concern is genuine.

Dawson went on to say: "I finally regained my composure after a minute or so, and went to find him to see if everything was ok. I found him in the men's room, washing out the cut and burn to his hand. I started to ask if he was ok, but he cut me off and said: _It's ok Bobby, its ok, please just leave me alone__. _I did as asked, but now regrets it. I should've done more." I clarified it was probably best he didn't intervene, and this incident was not his fault or the cause of his colleagues distress.

He seemed reassured by my comments, but I'll check in with him while I'm in Vegas.

By the end of Tuesday's shift, everyone said they were thankful Wednesday was the Assistant Supervisors night off, and they prayed he'd return with an improved disposition. Unfortunately, when he returned Thursday he appeared much the same, only more tired, paler, and with deeper circles under his eyes. The scowl on his face kept most co-workers at bay, with the exception of Catherine Willows _(Shift Supervisor.) _ She revealed she'd witnessed similar moods from her colleague in the past, but he always worked through them, and it never lasted more than a few hours…a day at most. This time was different though. Whatever was bothering him wasn't going away, and she became extremely concerned when he began looking physically ill. She knew about the incidents on Monday and Tuesday, and decided it was time to face the issue head on. The meeting did not go as planned.

Ms. Willows said she had planned to speak with her colleague before shift, in her office, but happened to run into him in the locker room. "I asked him if he was feeling ok, but instead of the usual _I'm fine_, he became argumentative and defensive. I'm not one easily deterred by male vibrato Doctor, so I pressed on and that's when he exploded…no more correctly…imploded. He slammed his injured hand against a locker, and slumped down onto the bench. I sat down next to him and cautiously tried to get him to talk. The first thing you have to understand is: we've always comforted each other in times of need, always confided honestly with each other, and we never judge. In all the time we've known each other…Thursday night was the first time he outright lied to me. He claimed he was upset because he received bad news from a friend back home, but it was a private matter and he couldn't discuss it. I knew it was a bullshit story, but I didn't want to break the trust, you know? By this point my concern skyrocketed tenfold, I knew something more was going on, but he wouldn't talk. I didn't know what to do, and I could think of only one person to help me out."

At this point, Supervisor Willows contacted LVPD Captain of Detectives, Jim Brass. She apprised Captain Brass of the situation. She asked him to observe the CSI from a distance, for the evening. Thankfully, Jim had the foresight to ask Supervisor Willows to keep their colleague off the call list and the streets that night. I believe Jim expected to discover the worst case scenario, and he wasn't disappointed.

Captain Brass and the Assistant Supervisor share an uncommon bond when it comes to their relationship. They have both suffered many traumatic experiences, before and after joining the force. Both men learned to internalize these experiences, kept their demons at bay for years, but both men reached breaking points. I knew Captain Brass' experiences, the results, and the treatment. When he called me Friday _(7-2-2010)_ asking for help, I knew it was serious.

Jim related what happened the past few days, and the final incident Thursday night _(7-1-2010.)_ That evening, Captain Brass did as Catherine Willows asked, and observed his colleague from a distance. Within an hour his worst fears were confirmed…his friend was in trouble, and fading fast. Jim described the incident in detail: "He was working in the lab when a technician, in another cubicle, dropped a metal tray by accident. The noise was jolting, and he became unconscious of his actions. He spun suddenly, and began reaching for his service revolver. I saw what was happening and immediately rushed into the room to prevent it. All I could see Doc, was him pulling the trigger, killing a co-worker, and never forgiving himself."

_(Jim took a deep breath and paused, I waited for him to continue_.)

"By the time I reached him, his sidearm was halfway cleared of the holster, and he had no idea what he was doing, where he was, or what was happening. I knew not to yell or startle him, so instead I walked into his line of sight. Probably not the smartest move on my part, but bless my ass, he recognized me and re-holstered his weapon. I don't know who was shaking worse…me or him?"

_(Jim let a nervous laugh escape.) _

I imagine the scene was playing out again in his mind, and was still all too fresh. I didn't immediately respond to Jim, the awkward pause would pass, and he'd continue when ready. He needed to deal with what happened, relive it, and come to terms with the situation.

After brief contemplation, Captain Brass continued. "As you well know, I have first-hand knowledge of PTSD, and Thursday night I recognized all the signs…but he didn't. I saw a few techs begin to gawk, and become interested by what was going on. They didn't see exactly what happened, but could tell something was up. I knew he'd be fucking mortified if they figured it out, so I got him out of there quick. We made a beeline to Catherine's office, where I sat him down, shut the door, and tried to calm him. Doc, I've seen people disoriented and shaken, and his was up there with the worst. After a few minutes he started to come out of it, but damn I was worried."

_(Jim paused again, and collected his thoughts.)_

"I called Catherine, and she came right away to her office. We calmed him down some more, and I began explaining Post Traumatic Stress Disorder to him…the cause, the effects and the symptoms. At first, he acted the same as me. He was angry, defensive, persecuted, and then defeated when he realized it was all too true. Thankfully Catherine has the touch, she was able to get him to understand none of this was his fault"

_(Jim gave a sigh of relief and cleansing.) _

"By this point Nicky was wrung out, he needed to go home, but definitely not by himself. I offered to drive him, stick around for awhile. Surprisingly, he was ok with the idea. Honestly Doc I think he was just as afraid as us, of what might happen if he was left alone."

_(I agreed with Jim 100%, and praised them for their quick thinking.)_

Captain Brass said the ride to his colleague's home was deafeningly quiet, and seemed painfully long. By the time they arrived the CSI not only looked tired and defeated, but actually was. "When we got inside, he unclipped his service weapon from his belt and handed it to me. He said: _Here Jim, you better hold onto this, and here's the key to my lock box, my off-duty weapon is in there. The last thing a psych job like me need's is guns__. _ I gotta tell ya Doc, hearing that coming from Nicky just about broke my heart.

_(Jim paused for a moment)_

"I tried to appear I wasn't worried and it didn't matter. I took his service weapon and key, set them aside on a table, and paid no further attention to it. I had more pressing matters to worry about. He had to understand he wasn't a psych case. Damn we must've talked for hours, and by the end he seemed better."

_(I could hear the relief in Jim Brass' voice, but knew there was more to the story…I waited for him to continue.) _

"We were both wore out, and in need of sleep. Nicky offered me his spare bedroom, and I was more than willing to accept. Then he did the damnedest thing…he made sure I had towels, and tossed me one of those complimentary travel ditty bag. I couldn't believe he had an extra ditty bag lying around; I had to ask where the hell he got it. He said the last forensic convention he went to, the airline lost his luggage, and the hotel gave him a couple complimentary ones. The kid's funny…after the night he had, all the shit he's gone through, and he's still taking care of people. I know it's not important, but I thought it was funny, ya know?"

_(To me this was a key piece of information, and I explained why to Jim. His colleague was definitely suffering from PTSD, but not all was lost. What may have seemed inconsequential actually spoke volumes. His friend wasn't totally detached from others, from the norms of polite society, he was still concerned for others well being, and this was a good sign. I then asked Jim to continue where he left off.)_

"He went to his bedroom and when I heard water running from his bathroom, I went back into the living room. I picked up the service weapon and key from the table, locked it up tight in the lock box, and pocketed the key. It's not like I didn't or don't trust him, but for both our sakes, I decided to error on the side of caution. I went back to my room and got ready for bed. I don't know how much later it was, but I was jolted out of sleep by pleading screams. I jumped outta bed, ran to his room, and found him in the middle of what I assume was a night-terror. It sure as hell was worse than any nightmare I've seen. It took me awhile to wake him, and when he did, the fear in his eyes was like nothing I've seen before. You know I'm not the: _let me give you a hug, make it all better type,_ but all I could think to do was wrap my arms around him and hold tight. You know…try to ground him some way, so he knew it was a nightmare and not reality. Man, if he was having these every night, it sure as hell explained alot."

_(I asked Jim if he discovered what the night-terror was about)_

"He just kept saying: _it was so real…it was so fucking real…_and that's all."

_(Jim tried to get him to explain, but he wouldn't or couldn't. Brass decided to stay sitting on the bed with him, and eventually his friend slept soundly. It was roughly 9 a.m. Friday morning when Jim quietly left the bedroom, and went into the living room to call me. As previously stated, I've read the files, talked to co-workers, and now I'm headed to Las Vegas. I hope to successfully intervene, and save the life of a man in dire need. For his sake, for his friends and co-workers sake, and yes…selfishly for my own sake…I pray I have the tools. This is a good man, one who's been put to the test too many times, he's lost his way, but hopefully we'll find it again. I don't want to lose this one…I won't lose this one!) _


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Transcript entry for 7-6-2010 9:00 a.m.:** _1__st__ session between myself and LVPD Assistant Supervisor CSI Nicholas Stokes._

"Hello Mr. Stokes. I'm Dr. William Heitker. I'm a therapist who works specifically with trauma victims."

"Let's just cut to the chase Doctor. You're here to analyze me, see if I'm able to do the job. I'm going to save you the trouble. I don't need your help. I was having some trouble, but worked it out on my own the past few days. It was nice to meet you, but I have to get back to work."

_(Patient was understandably agitated and defensive. He was put on the spot, called out so to speak. He got up to leave the room.)_

"How are you sleeping Nick? Can I call you Nick?"

_(Patient shrugged, but didn't answer the questions.)_

"Are you having nightmares? Flashbacks?"

_(Nick crossed his arms over his chest, glared intensely at me, but remained silent.)_

"Nick, I understand you're angry, you're feeling blindsided by all of this. You sure as hell don't want to talk to me, but I have to tell you Nick…you're in a ton of pain and you need my help. So why don't we talk about what's going on, we'll work it out, let me help."

"Dr. Heitker..."

"Please call me Bill."

"Bill, I've seen how you therapists help people, and I'm not interested. I'm fine, I had some problems, but like I said, I worked it out on my own…always have."

"Ok, so you don't need my help, I get it. You've managed to cope well with everything that's happened, why would you need my help?"

"That's all I'm saying Doctor."

"Nick, I don't want to be the asshole here, but will be if necessary. Your friends and co-workers are worried, and quite honestly…so am I. In the past you've handled the stress of the job, the daily dealing with death and everything that goes with it. You've handled the loss of friends, the injuries you've received, and the trauma. You've handled it well, better than anyone could ask, but there comes a time when it's too much. Like it or not, you've reached that point."

_(Nick's agitation turned quickly to anger. He jumped up out of the chair, slammed his fist on the desk, and raised his voice.) _

"What the fuck do you know? Have you ever lost everything…everything you knew or cared for? Did you ever see your best friend lying dead in some dirty fucking alley? Watched his death tear apart the people you care for? Have you ever had a gun in your face, or been kidnapped and buried alive? Ever send one of your own to check on a suspect, and get them killed? Have you ever been shot? Tell me Bill, ya experience that?"

"Honestly Nick…yes and no. Before I became a trauma therapist I spent 12 years as a Navy Seal. That being said, I do understand some of hells you've been through. It sucks getting shot, it sucks having guns shoved in your face countless times. It's devastating when one of your guys is shot down because of a split second choice you made. But the worst is watching your best friend die, and knowing there's nothing you could do to prevent it. Those are moments etched in my mind."

_(Nick sighed heavily, a look of concern and recognition appeared, but he remained silent. I chose to press on.)_

"Gotta tell you though Nick, in my 12 years as a Seal, I never experienced being buried alive. I can't imagine how terrifying it was, or the strength it took to come back from that hell. I'd be a fool to say I understand. Nonetheless, there was a time I thought everything was lost. A time when everything near and dear was gone, and I fell into a deep bottomless pit."

"You questioned your service…what you were doing?"

"Shit…I was questioning everything. I was in a pit so deep I thought I'd never get out. Eventually, with alot of help, I wormed my way through to the other side. You've fallen in a similar pit, but if you hang on for awhile, I can help you out. Look man, I've been down there, and it's fucking deep, but I know the way out."

_(Stokes looked down at his folded hands atop the table. I waited for him to speak.)_

"Sorry Doctor Heitker; guess the only ass in the room is me."

_(I was surprised by his apology, and the empathy in his voice and features.)_

"You're not being an ass Nick. You have, however, spent years putting one horrendous experience after another aside. Years spent trying to move-on; making sure no one saw weakness or fear. Years of trying not to worry anyone else, and keeping it all to yourself. Trust me, I get it…I know. Thankfully a friend saved me. He showed me I wasn't alone, that I needed help, and there was no shame in admitting it. He's why I became a trauma therapist. You have a friend, a friend I helped a few years back. He saw what was happening, recognized all the signs of PTSD, and called me to help out."

"Jim Brass?"

"Yes, Jim called me Friday morning. I've never seen him so determined to help someone out. Call me crazy, but I think he sees you as the son he never had."

"You know he'd laugh if he heard you say that."

"Knowing Jim…he'd do more than laugh. First he'd tell me I was fucking crazy; then he'd tell me I was a moron. Ya gotta love Jim Brass. You know it's funny when I think of it, the three of us have alot in common."

"Yeah, how so?"

"We all serve or served in one form or another. We've seen the worst one human can do to another, yet we've witnessed humanity at its finest moments. We've seen stupidity at its best, and ignorance in its deepest depths. And, given where and how we grew up…I'm sure we all were told: big boys don't cry, and man up."

"All sounds familiar to me. I know Jim's a Jersey boy, but where're you from?"

"I'm from Montana…Big Sky Country, and I read you're originally from Texas."

"You know what they say: You can take the boy out of Texas, but you can't take Texas out of the boy."

_(I had to laugh, as did Stokes. Nick is a likeable person: intelligent; forthright; strong. At this point, I could see the physical tension releasing from his frame, the weight finally lifting.)_

"Nick, please tell me what's happening? Honestly, how are you doing?"

"Guess the warm fuzzy is over; time to get down to business huh?"

"No we can stick with warm and fuzzy, but you don't strike me as the type who avoids the elephant in the room. I take you more as the let's face it head-on…no bullshit guy. You can correct me if I'm wrong?"

"You're not wrong, but I don't know where or how to begin?"

"Let's start with the nightmares. How bad are they? Are they different than the past… more intense?"

"They're so fucking real. 3-D TV has nothing on my dreams. Man, I thought the nightmares were over."

"I assume after the kidnapping you had nightmares?"

"Yeah, disjointed, fragmented ones, but I worked past it, and they faded after a few weeks. I had a few after Warrick's murder, but nothing long term. Now their back full force, not letting up, and they're not scrambled like before. These are real, and in full living color. I understand Officer Clark's murder and Ray's stabbing triggered them, but why can't I stop them this time?"

"Simply put…your coping mechanism has gone off-line, it can't handle the stress anymore, but we can fix it."

"That's good to hear."

"As a scientist, you understand, we know a small fraction of the brains functionality. That being said, we do know with certainty, the mind can only handle so much stress before it backs up. Think of it as a traffic jam. The coping mechanisms you've used in the past are at a stand still, and now we need to find new routes to take. The effects of PTSD can manifest in many ways: nightmares, flashbacks, anxiety and fears, detachment, irritability, anger, and an exaggerated startle response. Besides the nightmares, I would imagine you've experienced some of these symptoms?"

"I've experienced most. Not all at once, and definitely not continuously. Bill, for the past 6 years I've kept it in check, but lately it's overwhelming. Your right, I feel like I've fallen down the rabbit hole, but I sure as hell didn't land in any Wonderland."

"I have to ask this Nick, and it's a difficult question. Do you have thoughts of hurting yourself…of suicide?"

"No! No! What the fuck? Why would you say that?"

"I ask because it's not uncommon. At some time or another, most PTSD patients feel hopeless. Look, you've walked away from certain death more than once. Your best friend was murdered at the hand of one of your own. You unknowingly sent Officer Clark into the line of fire. Everything you understand, and hold dear, has been put into question. Why? Why them? Why did I survive?"

"Ok…ok…those thoughts crossed my mind, but never suicide. Yes, I wish Warrick was alive. I wish Clark was alive, and we never went into that fucking restaurant. I wish I could trade my life for theirs. They had kids; they should be with their children. I should've died, not them!"

"Damn Stokes, you've got a belly full of unjustified guilt, it's no wonder you're hurting. You know someone told me once: 'Birth and death are the easy part of living; the hard part lies in between.' You're walking through the hard parts, but we're going to work through it. We've got some work to do, but it's nothing we can't handle."

"Guess I'm more fucked up than I thought."

"You are not fucked up! I don't ever want to hear you say that! Nick you're suffering from a clinically recognized condition. Please, stop blaming yourself, and please let me help."

"I just want it all to stop. I love my job, I like helping people, solving the case. I don't want to be forced into a psych pension…or worse...fired."

"I won't let that happen, you're going to be ok, and soon."

"What's next?"

"You'll be on medical leave for the next week or so. Catherine Willows is writing it up as unforeseen complications from the GSW you took, and in a way it's not a lie. Catherine and Jim are also making sure nothing shows up in your departmental records. You and I are going to have intense sessions this week, and then I'll refer you to a therapist for continuing treatment. You'll have tools to deal with the PTSD, and you'll feel better soon. Are you ready to start?"

"I hate to ask, but could we take a break for an hour or so? I have a few people I need to apologize to, and thank."

"Absolutely…have at it. I'll meet you back here at 2:00."

"Thanks Bill."

"Don't thank me, thank your friends."

"That's the plan, man."

_(Nick Stokes left the office to apologize and thank his friends. I have a good feeling about this case, though I admit initial doubts. A person can only withstand so many traumas in their life, before the side-effects are irreversible. Nick Stokes has been a victim more than once and he's suffered from those experiences. He's also suffered from personal grief, but he's walked out on the other side. Thankfully, the will to survive still exist, yes he needs help, has accepted that help, and that's half the battle. The outlook is hopeful, promising. Another life will be saved, but this time it was damn close.) _


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Transcript entry for 7-6-2010 cont.: **_Continuation of 1__st__ session between myself and LVPD Assistant Supervisor CSI Nicholas Stokes._

_(I arrived back to the small conference room within the Crime Lab, fifteen minutes past our appointed time of 2 p.m. I found Nick Stokes waiting, and though he wasn't exactly agitated, he did seem anxious.)_

"I'm sorry for the delay Nick; I know we said we'd meet back here at two."

"Not a problem Doc, figured my scattered brain just screwed up the time."

"No, my scattered brain screwed up the time."

"Gotta tell you Bill, I'm starting to lose confidence in your therapy skills."

"Fire me."

"What, and have some department shrink fuck with my head? No, I'll take my chances with you."

"Your confidence in my skills is overwhelming. Seriously though, the reason I was late is because I was talking to a friend here in the city."

"Like I said, no problem, ya gotta catch up with friends when you can."

"My friend's a fellow trauma therapist, and I won't lie, she and I were discussing your case. She suggested we move to a location outside the lab, and I have to agree. She's offered us the use of one of her offices, somewhere away from the lab and prying eyes, if that's ok with you?"

"Everyone in the lab already knows what's going on. They're investigators and scientist; they're all well versed, nature of the job. I'm not ashamed of what's happening to me, I never asked for it. As my grandpa always said: _Walk a mile in someone else's shoes before you can pass judgment_. My friends and co-workers understand."

"You're right, they do understand. Your colleagues figured it out long before you did. Hell, most figured it out before Jim or Catherine. They're the ones who brought it to forefront. Their good people Nick, they're concerned."

"I know, but that being said; I don't want or need the sympathy or guilt that goes with that concern. For once, it'd be nice not having everyone up in my business."

"Understood…you're thankful for the concern, but enough is enough. That's why I want to change locations. Any further meetings between us will be strictly personal. They did their part, now it's up to us."

"One good thing about this latest shit: it wasn't recorded on another invisible camera for everyone to see over and over again."

_(Nick's comment caused concern. Was he delusional, or had camera's actually captured the events that happened to him. I had to question.) _

"What camera's recorded you before?"

"Nigel Crane, the guy who stalked me, enjoyed watching every aspect of my life from the attic of my old house. And, then there's the webcam Gordon attached to the plexi-glass when I was…you know. Oh, and there were security camera's at the restaurant. At least those cleared me for a clean shoot."

"Damn, I had no idea about camera's being involved in those cases. Now I understand why you don't want anyone up in your business. I sure as hell wouldn't want the fucked up moment of my life played out on video."

"Just another one of those quirky perks I guess. One good thing, those videos put Crane behind bars, and if Gordon hadn't done the webcam thing…the team wouldn't have found me. Blessing in disguise I guess."

"I don't know if I could have such a positive viewpoint Nick."

"Gotta find the silver lining where you can Doc."

_(**Note**: Ask Jim Brass for access to these tapes. I don't necessarily want to be another set of prying eyes, but I believe it will help in treating Nick. These recordings may give me unforeseen insight.)_

"Doc, is something wrong?"

"No, sorry got lost in a thought. Hey, why don't we go check out my colleague's office? If the surroundings are comfortable, we'll continue tomorrow morning around 9?"

"Sounds like a plan, but could we begin later in the day?"

"I guess so, but why?"

"After so many years on the grave shift, I'm not exactly the best company in the morning."

"Oh hell Nick, I didn't even think of that."

"Most people live in daylight hours...I don't…and haven't for years. What can you do?"

"My bad, I neglected to take your routine into consideration. Sorry about that."

"Hard to believe you haven't cured me yet…"

_(For the first time, I truly witnessed the Nick Stokes charm everyone spoke of and loved. The gracious smile, the forgiving attitude, and the sense of humor at a moments notice…yes, I'm beginning to understand why they want to protect him. I understand, but couldn't let his last comment pass.)_

"Jim forewarned me you may seem like a nice guy, but in reality you're a smartass. I'm on to you Stokes."

_(Nick gave me a disquieting laugh, but gave no reply. I had to wonder what was going through his mind at that point. Was he laughing at the fact I was on to him, and letting me know I was clueless? Or was it all innocent, and he was laughing at Jim Brass' remarks? Only time will tell... _

_Nick and I ended our secession at this point. I asked if we could meet in the parking lot in a few minutes to go to Dr. Gentry's offices. I explained I had to call my office back home and check-in. He gave a quick nod, and left the room. In actuality I called Jim Brass about the video evidence from Nick Stokes' cases, and asked if I would be able to view them. I hate being deceptive with Nick about viewing the videos, and I'm certain he will be angry that I watched them. I certainly do not wish to invade his privacy anymore than it already has, but I believe the videos will help in treating his condition. I hope he will eventually understand my reasons. ) _

**Thank you for reading, and leave a review if you have time. Chapter 4 is on its way.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Personal Journal entry: 7-6-2010; 7:30 p.m.**

Nick Stokes and I left the LVPD Crime Lab shortly after 3:30 p.m., and drove to Dr. Colleen Gentry's office. The drive there was quietly subdued, but not awkward. After a brief perusal of Dr. Gentry's offices, and a conversation with her, we agreed the facilities met our needs.

We returned to Nick's vehicle, and slowly weaved our way through a steady stream of backed up traffic. I was thankful he was driving, and giving me a ride back to my hotel on the strip, because I despise traffic. Standing still has never been a stronghold for me. Nick seemed to sense my discomfort, and flipped on the car stereo. He hit a button or two on the unit, and we began listening to a very soothing melodic song. The song played once, repeated, and then repeated again. I'm not the tech savvy type, but I'm pretty sure he had an I-pod or the like hooked up. I know with some certainty, radios stations seldom repeat songs over and over.

Music speaks volumes about a person. Songs have intense meaning to listeners…often a very different meaning from what the lyricists or musician's intended. The music or lyrics of this song were speaking to Nick, and evoking a mood, a place, a feeling. The first time through the beat caught my attention; the second time through I listened closely to the lyrics:

You know it ain't easy…for these thoughts here to leave me.

There's no words to describe it…in French or in English.

But diamonds they fade…

Flowers they bloom…

And I'm telling you…

These feelings won't go away…

They been knockin' me sideways…

I keep thinking in a moment that time will take them away.

These feelings won't go away.

By the beginning of third time through, my thoughts were consumed by what the song meant to Nick. I wanted to ask why this song was important, but there wasn't time. Before I realized, we were pulling up in front of my hotel. I wanted to continue, but one look at Nick's exhausted features said it would wait. I grabbed my briefcase and luggage from the backseat, and we quickly made plans to meet at Dr. Gentry's offices at 3:00 p.m. tomorrow.

I reached the check-in desk, announced my name, and the alert Concierge immediately directed me away from the main check-in counter. He politely explained LVPD Captain Jim Brass was in my room and awaiting my arrival. I wanted to shoot Brass for making the Concierge, and probably the entire security staff, aware and suspicious of me. I'm sure the hotel staff was curious as to why the Captain of LVPD Homicide wanted to speak so earnestly with me. Now I was on the hotels watch list, and would be observed closely.

Jim's never been the subtly type, and there was a reason for what he did, but the situation was disconcerting. I thanked the Concierge, accepted my keycard, and headed to my room on the 7th floor. When I entered my room, I found Jim waiting, with an apologetic look written on his face. He knows I'm not fond of being placed under the microscope and examined, my years as a Seal have given me just reasons. I know he feels much the same way because we discussed this when I counseled him a few years ago. I knew Jim's tactics were not malicious, but nonetheless I wasn't happy. At first I didn't understand why he would do such a thing…and then it hit me.

Jim Brass wanted to give me a taste of what it's been like for Nick Stokes. What it's like to have your life recorded, replayed, and examined over and over again. I can only imagine the doubt, the second guessing, the anguish, the faltering, and yes, the suspicion Nick's felt over the past years. Though I didn't agree with Jim's tactics, I got the point.

"Let me guess, this is your subtle way of giving me a taste of what Nick Stokes has gone through? What it's like to be watched?" Dr. Heitker asked.

"I know it's a shitty way to go about it Doc, but you needed to experience a small taste. How did it make you feel to be watched, scrutinized, and recorded on video?" Jim questioned.

"You know how it felt, because we talked about this exact thing a few years ago. I get why you did it, but you could've found a better way to go about it. Nonetheless, I appreciate the lesson."

"Just remember the lesson, and multiply it a few times, that's what it's been like for Nick. Remember it when you're counseling him." Jim stated protectively.

"You know it's funny, earlier today Nick said his Grandpa always told him: Walk a mile in someone's shoes before you pass judgment. I'm thinking ole Grandpa was pretty smart, and it explains alot about Stokes."

"You may be right, but also remember these are the same people who told him only the strong survive, and show no weakness."

"Point taken."

"I'm not telling you how to do you're job Bill, I know better, but I've worked with Nicky a longtime. I know what makes him tick, what sets him off, what's important to him. I also know his weaknesses and faults. Hell I hired the kid years ago when I was supervisor of the grave shift, and I've watched him grow and become a man…a good man. I hate seeing him in pain, and I'll do anything to stop it…anything."

"I'm going to take care of him…no…we're going to take care of him. He's going to walk away from this healthy, stronger, and a whole lot wiser. I did, you did, and he will."

"Thanks Bill. And thank you for helping us; me and Nick both."

"I'm just paying it forward man. Like I told Nick, I've been down in the bottomless pit, but a friend helped me find the way out. He helped me, I helped you, and you're helping Nick….one day, he'll do the same for someone."

"Help where we can, see a brother through." Jim said quietly.

Dr. Heitker looked over to a stack of four cardboard file boxes, and one smaller box, on the table by the window.

"Do all those boxes contain videos relating to Nick?" Bill disbelievingly asked.

"The larger boxes contain copies of files that Catherine and I believe are relevant. The smaller box on top, contains flash drive copies of videos relating to Nick. Awhile back, the departments A/V techs began transferring copies of video evidence, from the past ten years, into updated formats. Nick's cases were some of the first finished." Jim explained.

"Wow, that's a daunting task for the A/V techs."

"Yeah, they'll be working on it for years."

"Given the number of cases per year, and the fact that this is a city filled with cameras, you're right Jim, they'll be working on it for years."

"Hell, the video evidence from the Crane case was still on VHS, and filled at least four large file boxes. The Gordon videos were on DVD, but shit, there was twenty-plus hours of it." Brass said.

Dr. Heitker's jaw actually dropped open at the information Jim revealed.

"I had no idea there was that much video."

"Now you get a better idea of what's involved, and don't take this the wrong way, but I'm thankful I don't have to watch them with you. I have no desire to relive any of it." Brass stated with sorrow.

"Are you doing ok, Jim?"

"Yeah, I'm fine Doc, and don't worry I'd tell you if I wasn't."

"Try not to worry, ok? I'm going to make sure Nick get's through this."

"Thanks, I appreciate what you're doing, and for coming to Vegas. Now, I'm going to get out of your way, and let you get to work. If you need anything or have questions, you can call Catherine or me anytime."

"You have a good evening, and I'll talk to you soon Jim."

Jim left and headed back to work, while Dr. Heitker got to work on the files and videos.

**Thanks for reading, a review would be nice, and chapter 5 will be up soon.**


	5. Chapter 5

**I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter, due to a week long Internet outage in my area, I've been unable to post. I hope you enjoy chapter 5...chapter 6 will be up soon. Thank you for reading this story, and for being patient. **

**Chapter 5**

**Personal Journal entry: 7-7-2010; 4:30 a.m.**

After a long and demanding day, this will be my final journal entry for 7-6-2010, though technically the day ended hours ago. Normally I wouldn't be writing this late, but I'm adjusting to a revised schedule. As stated in previous journal and transcript entries, Assistant Supervisor Nick Stokes works the 3rd shift (the grave yard shift) as a Crime Scene Investigator, for the Las Vegas Police Department. I believe it's crucial for me to keep the same hours as he does, and has for years. I need to understand what it's like working the twilight hours.

Numerous studies have shown higher rates of depression, anxiety, alcohol and drug abuse, and sleep depravation in those who work this type of schedule. I'm certain Nick's situation has little to do with his schedule, and everything to do with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but that being said…the schedule could be exacerbating the symptoms. Nonetheless, I need to ascertain some form of understanding.

This evening, I spent hours viewing copies of video evidence from an incident in which my patient was stalked by a man named Nigel Crane. The videos are, quite frankly, disturbing. There are hours and hours of random ranting from Crane, but thankfully the accompanying files led me to what I needed to review. After viewing the videos, I'm surprised Nick is still alive and breathing.

It seems Nigel Crane initially became obsessed with a young female (who I'll refer to as Jane.) Crane had the perfect job for his obsession; a cable television installation technician. He was able to gain access to areas of Jane's and Nick's homes, that they would never allow others to enter. In Jane's case, I'm not surprised; the average person thinks little of allowing a complete strange access to their home for repairs or maintenance…but in Nick's case? I don't want to be critical or judge, but given Nick's profession, how did Crane get passed him? How did he get passed the cop radar? I've worked with enough officers and investigators, to know they're some of the most suspicious and curious people on Earth. This leads me to question: was Crane that good? Was he congenial and helpful, but not too congenial and helpful? Or did Nick possibly trust to a fault, back then?

I suppose I'll find out tomorrow afternoon, when I tell him I viewed the video recording, and asked about the case. I know, without a shadow of doubt, he'll be angry…angry that I viewed the tapes, and angry with Jim Brass and Catherine Willows for allowing me to view them. Nick will more than likely feel deceived, cornered, and defensive, but we'll push through it. All for the better good, at least that's what I keep telling myself.

From what I understand, Nick has viewed some of the videos from the Crane incident, but not all. I was also informed, by Jim and Catherine, that the grave shift team was less than empathetic to Nick's plight, and the repercussions of the events. Essentially, Nick's traumatic experience was dismissed, and he was left to handle any fallout on his own.

The Supervisor at the time (Dr. Gilbert Grissom) said it was **not** about Nick, but rather Maslow's Hierarchy of Need. I found the comments Dr. Grissom wrote in his report, to be condescending and inappropriate for the moment. His colleague was in pain (physically and emotionally) and the last thing he needed was a lesson in psychological theory, especially a wrong theory.

Maslow's theory is based on:

· Self-actualization _(morality, creativity, spontaneity, problem solving, lack of prejudice, and acceptance of facts)_

· Esteem _(self esteem, confidence, respect of others, and respected by others)_

· Loving and Belonging _(friendship, family, sexual intimacy) _

· Safety _(security of body, employment, resources, the family, health and property) _

· Physiological need _(food, water, sleep, breathing etc)_

Maslow's theory is often seen in a pyramid structure. The Physiological need (the most basic need) is at the bottom of the pyramid, and the Self-actualization (the most developed stage) is at the top of the pyramid.

Crane's most basic needs (the Physiological needs) were fulfilled: he had food and water, and saw to his most base needs. He met most of his Safety needs: he was employed, his physical health and property needs were met, but his security of body (his personal safety) was non-existent. The Loving and Belonging level fell extremely short; Crane had no family, and no form of sexual intimacy with anyone, except himself. His desire for friendship was based on dominance and intimidation, not companionship. Crane also fell well short of the last two levels…Esteem and Self-actualization. Crane had no confidence, no respect from others, for others, or for himself. He had no sense of morality, or acceptance of fact.

Though Dr. Grissom is an expert in the field of entomology, he is not an expert in psychology. Yes, Crane desired to become Stokes, not because he was following Maslow's Hierarchy of Need, but rather because he was a delusional sociopath with schizophrenic tendencies. Nigel Crane was, and still is (according to his latest psych eval.) a sociopathic murderer. To this day he has no remorse for killing Jane, or Morris (the man who came to Nick's home to warn him of Crane.) He blames Nick Stokes for his incarceration, and for stealing his identity and life. In Crane's mind, Nick is the imposter, not him. Crane's desire to become Nick had nothing to do with reaching self actualization, but rather intimidation, dominance and fear. He is no different than the rapist, the thug, or a gang…it's all about control, and not about reaching some higher level of thought and being.

After viewing the videos I called Jim Brass at work, to ask him a few questions. I was curious as to how Nick handled the aftermath. Thankfully, Jim was gracious enough to allow me to record our conversation.

**Transcript entry for 7-6-2010: 11:35 p.m.** _This transcript is an inquiry conversation with LVPD Captain Jim Brass, to determine Nick Stokes' mental state immediately following the Nigel Crane incident. _

"How did Nick handle the aftermath of the incident?"

"How the fuck do you think he handled it?" Nick was shaken. Shit, Crane invaded his home, killed a man in his living room, and to top it off, held him at gun point. Nick fought for control of a firearm and for his life. He knew what Crane was capable of; the evidence was lying on the living room floor and in the morgue."

"Jim, I understand Nick's state immediately following the confrontation. He must've been a wreck. What I'm asking is…what was Nick's state a few hours later, a day later, a week, a month?"

"Sorry Bill, guess that whole scene still gets me riled up."

"It's understandable."

"Yeah, I guess." _Jim paused, collected his thoughts, and began again_.

"Me and my guys entered the house expecting the worst, but Nick had already wrestled the gun free from Crane. My guys took Crane down, cuffed him, and took him away. I remember Nick was holding the gun above his head when we entered, just like all cops are taught to do in that type of situation. He was breathing heavy, which had to hurt like a mother given his cracked ribs. I remember reaching for the firearm with one hand, and wrapping my other around his neck. I could feel the adrenalin radiating from his body, and thought for sure the crash would soon follow. You know how it is Doc, the incredible adrenalin high, the fight mechanism full force, and the crash when the threat's gone."

"Oh yeah, I remember that feeling. You're so fucking pumped up, and when it's over the bottom drops out. I remember my body and brain being drained."

"Yeah well, I waited for Nick to crash, I was certain it would happen any minute, but it didn't. Once he caught his breathe, he said: _I'm goin to HQ with ya, I wanna hear what this fucker has to say. _ I wanted to take him to the hospital, get checked out, but he said: _No, I gotta see it through_. That was it, no fallout, no crash. We waited for the Coroner and CSI's to arrive, and then drove to PD. I remember driving there and thinking…damn Nicky, its ok if you're hurting, you don't need to play the tough guy for my sake."

"And, I'm sure you asked him if he was ok?"

"Oh yeah, several times, the last time I asked, he said: _It's ok Jim, stop worrying. It is what it is. _It was like he was trying to comfort me."

"That's exactly what he was doing. It's become second nature for him."

"You know Bill, back then I thought: Wow, they do raise them tough in Texas, but now, I realize they may 'raise-em' tough in Texas, but they don't teach them about a little river in Egypt."

"Ah yes, the river of de-nial?"

"Yep, that's the one, Doc."

"How did Nick behave in the days following?"

"Well, he was on medical leave for a few days, but when he returned it was business as usual. If, anyone asked him how he was doing, he said he was fine. Like I said, back then I didn't think too much of it. As Nick said: it is what it is. Damn, I wish I could back to that time."

"Jim, you know you can't live life in hindsight. What if's? Don't exist."

"Damn shame they don't. There's alot of things I'd like to change and forget."

"Me too brother, me too."

**End of transcript...**

Jim and I ended our call, and though I had many more questions, it was time to end it. Jim was becoming overly reflective, and that wasn't good for him. I know we'll talk again soon, but Jim needs a break. He needs to step away, and process what we've discussed. As I've stated previously; I believe Jim sees Nick Stokes as the son, or maybe young brother, he never had. This is all just conjecture on my part.

Tomorrow, Nick and I will discuss the events of the Crane incident. I admit a part of me dreads doing so, but it must be done. No matter what happens, I'm thankful we moved our sessions to a location outside the crime labs. Nick doesn't need additional stresses at this point. Sessions at the lab would definitely lead to self-censorship, and Nick needs to speak freely, without a sense of censorship or any type of judgment.

I pray tomorrow afternoon goes well, but fear it won't.

**Again, thank you for reading the story, and I apologize for the delay. If my Internet access remains up and running, Chapter 6 will be up soon. If the urge hits you, please feel free to leave a review.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter.**

**Chapter 6**

Dr. Bill Heitker arrived at Dr. Colleen Gentry's office shortly before 2:00 p.m. Bill was anxious and timorous to start today's therapy session. Anticipation and concern were getting the better of him, and the sleep that evaded wasn't helping. His pre-dawn hours were filled with worse-case scenarios, and any hopeful idea of a seamless secession, were soon vanquished with thoughts of Nick's anger, disillusionment, and grief.

What will Nick do? How will he react? What's next?

Bill spent countless hours thinking about the questions Nick might pose, and his possible answers. He thought about different scenarios and situations to a point where he relinquished the idea of sleep, and instead began taking notes. After years as a Navy Seal, Dr. Heitker was intimately familiar with the concept of sleep depravation. Combat and covert operations often required days upon days without sleep. Bill took a step back in time and placed himself back in those shoes, and then he placed himself in Nick's shoes, or for that matter, all the CSI's on the grave shift.

"_How do they do it? The godforsaken hour's night after night. The constant death, and the anguish of victims' families? The realization that as dawn breaks at the end of their shift, another desperate night lies ahead. Do they ever embrace the warmth of daylight without a care or case in mind? How do they let go of the horrendous crime scenes, the countless dead souls? Do they see victims and dead bodies in their sleep? Do they ever find peace? Can they ever let it go? And if so…How?"_

Bill knew the only way to discover the truth was to go to the source, and Nick Stokes was that source. Stokes may be tumbling out of control lately, but for years he found a will to survive, and Heitker needed to understand how. Helping Nick would help others in law enforcement and the military. PTSD is a tricky business at best, and any insight gained would be beneficial. Bill looked up at the clock, and realized Nick would be arriving soon. He put his notes from last night away, today, right now; he needed to focus all of his concentration on Nick Stokes, and only Nick Stokes.

A few minutes before 3:00 p.m., Nick was ushered into the room. Bill first noticed the weary expression on his face and the deep circles beneath his eyes. It seemed he wasn't the only one suffering from lack of sleep. They graciously greeted each other, made small talk for a few moments, and then settled down to begin their session. Bill reached across the table, and turned on the digital audio recorder.

**Transcript entry for 7-7-2010 3:00 p.m.:** _Second session between myself and Assistant Supervisor, CSI Nick Stokes, LVPD._

"Nick, I want to start this session by being up front, and let you know I spoke with Jim and Catherine yesterday afternoon. I asked to view the video recordings from the Crane and Gordon cases."

_(I paused and waited for the shoe to drop, but it never came.)_

"They supplied me with copies, and I began reviewing some of the video from the Crane case last night."

"I see…damn shame you wasted time on that crap Bill, you missed a close game between the Rangers and Indians."

_(Nick said this with a laugh, and quite frankly, I was floored by the reply…so much for spending a sleepless night worrying about his reaction and anger.)_

"You're not angry I watched the videos?"

"I would've been angry if you didn't. The videos are evidence, and a good scientist always examines the evidence, right?"

"Yes, absolutely, but I also know you despise the existence of these videos, and I was certain you would be angry that another person was viewing them."

"If it were anyone else, damn straight I'd be pissed, but you're my doctor, it's important for you watch them. Maybe you can explain what I've been missing?"

"You understand it had nothing to do with Maslow's Hierarchy of Need?"

"Yeah I know, knew it then, know it now, but the question still remains: why kill Jane and Pearson, and not me? He sure as hell had the opportunity."

"I think you're overlooking the facts, Nick. Crane did try to kill you, in fact, he tried this twice. He cracked you over the head, and tossed you out of second story window. He held you at gun point, and threatened to blow your brains out for God sake!"

"I know all that! But, why did he become obsessed with Jane in the first place?"

"Crane had a warped idea of friendship based on dominance and control. He targeted Jane well before he ever met you, and unfortunately Jane was an easy mark. Crane played on her fear, he found a weakness and he used it. He became the puppet-master to Jane's fearful puppet. She was fun to toy with for awhile, but the day he met you…well you became the ultimate challenge. He was bored with Jane, but he also knew he could use her in his plan to get to your attention. You were never an easy mark; you took work, weeks of calculated planning, and all his predatory skills. Make no mistake, Crane is a sociopath, and as you know, sociopaths are cunning."

"Yeah, the teams dealt with more than one over the years. I understand he was able to manipulate Jane, and when he had absolute control, when she became the willing victim, he killed her. I also know Pearson died because he was in the wrong place, at the wrong time, nothing more nothing less."

_(Nick paused, and remained quiet) _

"But?"

"No buts."

"C'mon Nick, I know there's a question in there, what is it?"

_(Nick didn't immediately respond. I waited out the awkward pause, knowing it would pass soon enough. Nick needed to deal with this once and for all.)_

"You know what really pisses me off about that night?"

"No, tell me."

"After Grissom rattled on about Maslow's theory, and Sara added her two cents worth about it being over, I was left standing there with nothing. Two people were dead, my life was turned upside down, but hey the case was closed, it's over. They all went back to the lab to write up the paperwork, and I stood there like a fucking idiot with no idea where to go or what to do. At that moment I understood what Crane was talking about when he said I just blew him off after we met, that I blanked him, and man that thought scared the shit out of me."

"Why did that disturb you?"

"I was relating with a sociopath, how would that make you feel?"

"Nick, by nature you have an empathetic soul, and that's not a bad thing."

"Others would disagree with you."

"And, I would disagree with them. Being empathetic is not a character flaw or weakness. Having empathy actually shows a well developed sense of self awareness, because you're able to utilize the situations you've been in, or have seen others go through. You weren't relating to Crane the person, you weren't suddenly thinking like a sociopath. You were perceiving a similar experience of being blown off, left behind, and understanding that feeling… that's all. Now as to your team leaving, tell me what happened?"

"Nothing more to tell, one minute we were all in the observation room watching Crane melt down, and the next I was standing there alone. I remember Catherine saying something about going back to the lab, but that's all. Look I don't want to sound like a petty cry baby or that I couldn't take care of myself, but damn a little help would've been nice."

_(I admit, I was rather appalled by the other CSI's actions during this incident. I've made note to talk to Catherine Willows about that night and the days following. )_

"You're not being petty, and your comments are not inappropriate. In my opinion, a little help would've been nice. What did you do after? Where did you go?"

"My home was a crime scene, I couldn't go back there, and didn't want to anyway. My options were limited; it was either a hotel or nothing. So I chose one of those extended stay hotels not far from my house."

"I can't imagine how difficult it must have been to have your home turn into a crime scene."

"Trust me you never look at your place the same way. I mean, an innocent man lost his life on my living room floor, and my home was turned inside out. Even when I was allowed back in, after the place was cleaned up and put back together, I couldn't live there anymore. I knew all the peep holes were gone, everything was back where it belonged, but it didn't feel right."

"That's understandable. Your home, your life, your privacy were all violated. I doubt anyone could live there again."

"The fucker tore my life apart, and I couldn't spend another night there after that. When I was allowed back in, I packed up everything, with the exception of the living room furniture and my clothes, and put it all in storage. I lived out of the hotel for about four months until the place sold."

"Nick, there's one part I don't quite get? Why not take your clothes?"

"Crane stole my clothes, and had them on that night. I didn't know what he touched or wore, and I couldn't handle the thought, so I tossed everything in garbage bags and dumped it. I know it may seem illogical, but at the time it was the one thing I could control. You're right, Crane violated my home, my life, he stole the fucking shirt off my back, but I wasn't going to allow him to take more. When I tossed my clothes, it felt like I was tossing him too."

_(Throwing away the clothes was definitely a cleansing, a cathartic experience for Nick. At that time his coping mechanisms were well intact) _

"It's my understanding that Crane had his first parole hearing three months ago, did you go?"

"I wouldn't have missed it. He put on an Academy Award winning performance, all apologetic, but he neglected to remember one thing…any sign of remorse. Damn shame for him. Thankfully, the parole board saw through his guise.

_(The joy of Crane remaining incarcerated was evident in Nick's voice)_

"And, if they didn't, what would you have done?"

"That's a loaded question, isn't it Doc?"

"No, no it isn't."

_(I sensed the agitation immediately)_

"What do you want to hear? That I would've pursued him if he was let go? I would've killed him for stealing Jane's and Pearson's lives? Is that what you want to hear?"

"Is that what you would've done?"

"Fuck you! Fuck you!"

_(Now Nick's anger was palpable, and I wanted him to get angry. He needed to cleanse this idea from his mind, and stop wondering what if? I pushed again, and asked the same question)_

"Is that what you would've done?"

"No! Yes! I don't know!"

"You know! If you had the chance would you kill Nigel Crane?"

"No! I don't know! He killed them, and deserves the full punishment for his crimes."

"But?"

"But, Crane's a sick bastard, and not just because of the crimes he committed. He's psychologically sick, and I don't know…I don't know if he's culpable for his crimes. Is he culpable?"

"Hah, speaking of loaded questions…he was convicted, but that all depended the evidence; the jury; the lawyers; the judge; the trial; the day; week; month; and year."

"In other words, you can't answer the question?"

"Yes, yes, I can. Nigel Crane is absolutely culpable for the murders he committed. He was cognizant of his actions, his actions were premeditated; he knew exactly what he was doing. So yes, he's culpable."

"But?"

_(Nick used my favorite questioning word against me…with every right to do so. I took a moment to think before replying)_

"But, whether the next parole board views it the same way depends on the day. I'm sorry, I wish it were different, but that's the best I can offer."

"You know it's just a matter of time before Crane manipulates the right sympathetic ears. One day, he'll walk free and come after me again."

"That's a possibility, it always was. Are you afraid of that happening?"

"No, not really, if he wants to kill me he will."

_(Nick just shrugged after making the comment and that disturbed me. His comment admitted defeat, but worse yet, his death)_

"You stopped him the last time. Would you attempt to stop him again, isn't that why you do the job?"

"Stopping the bad guys is always the reason I do the job Doc, but lately I'm just so fucking tired."

"I know you are Nick…I know you are."

"The bad guys keep winning and good guys taken out. The job isn't making sense anymore, and I don't know if I have the strength to go on. I'm not sure I can do the job anymore, I'm not sure about anything anymore?"

_(I weighed what to say next. If I chose a poor course I could push Nick into a devastatingly wrong direction)_

"You have more strength left Nick…more than you know. Right now you're reaching into the bottom of a barrel, but remember sometimes the bottom of the barrel holds the best ingredients. Crane isn't being released from prison, and he won't be anytime soon, because you did your job, the job, and you'll keep doing it. Not because it's easy and simple, not because the bad guys belong behind bars and the good guys should persevere. You'll do the job because it's who you are. Right now, you may disagree with what I'm about to say, but you, Nick Stokes, are a fine criminalist and Assistant Supervisor for the LVPD Crime Lab…they don't give that job to chumps, you know?"

"I appreciate the rah-rah attitude Doc, really I do, but I think I'm beyond pep talks and rally cheers."

"I don't give a crap if you think you're beyond pep talks, you're getting one anyway. I don't think you realize the countless people you've saved because you put a murderer behind bars. The victims, dead and alive, that you've given peace too. The families left wondering why, that now have answers. Tonight, before you go to bed, I want you to think about those people, and not the fucking criminals. I know it doesn't seem like it, but you do make a difference, just ask the people whose lives you touched."

_(Unfortunately, Nick wasn't buying my pep talk; I could see it in his eyes)_

"Yeah maybe, but it's not enough."

"I've been a trauma specialist for awhile now, and do you know the one common thread I've discovered from sessions with those who serve?"

"Let me guess, none of us feel like we do enough."

"Yes exactly. I've counseled Vets, cops, firefighters, paramedics, and we all say the same thing."

"Then tell me how to reconcile the idea? Tell me how to shut the voices off?"

"Honestly Nick, we never do, at least not completely. I've been away from active service for nearly fourteen years, and there's still times when I'll run an operation through my mind. I still ask myself if we did enough, if we made the right decisions, if I was the cause of unnecessary deaths."

"So what you're saying is, even if I walk away from the job, I'd still wonder if I did enough, if I did the right thing. Sounds kind of like a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation, don't ya think?"

"No. No that's not what I'm saying. Look, I'm not a big fan of quoting others, but I remember reading this when I was still serving and I think it's appropriate. Bobby Kennedy said: _Let us dedicate ourselves to what the Greeks wrote so many years ago; to tame the savageness of man, and make gentle the life of this world. _ That's what everyone who serves must remember. We dedicate our life to taming the savageness, so that one day this world may become a safe place. I don't know about you, but I'm damn proud of my service and for making this world a better place."

"I am proud of the job I do, and I don't want to walk away from the job, but I haveta find a way to deal. I just want to feel normal again."

"The feelings you're having are completely normal given the circumstances, and we'll find a way for you to deal with them. You've been through hell and back, more than once in the past ten years, and the pressure of those experiences caused the dam to break, but we'll fix it. But, for now, it's a good time for us to stop for the day, if that's ok with you?"

"Yeah, I'm ready to call it a day Bill. I've worked multiple doubles that were less exhausting."

"Go home, get some rest. Do you need a sleep aid? I can prescribe something mild?"

"No, I'm good; wouldn't take it anyway."

"Ok, then I'll see you tomorrow at three, and Nick, we'll get through this…I promise."

"Yeah, huh yeah…tomorrow…three…yeah, ok."

_(After believing we made definitive progress today, I realized something in my final comments threw Nick for a loop, and our progress may be back at square one tomorrow. He gave me a brief look of contempt, and then stumbled over his reply. I don't understand why? I don't know why my comments left him flustered. Unfortunately, I'll have to wait to discover why?) _

**End Transcript for 7-7-2010 **_Session will continue 7-8-2010 3:00 p.m._

Dr. Heitker gathered his notes and files, all the while perplexed as to why Nick became flustered by his last comments. Regrettably, Bill ran out of time the previous night to view Gordon tapes. Much would've been ascertained, and easily laid to rest, but at this point, Dr. Heitker wasn't privy to the final moments of Walter Gordon's well planned scheme. He didn't hear Nick's "final" recorded words of never meaning to disappoint Gil Grissom. He didn't know Grissom made Nick promise not to move once the lid to his plexi-glass coffin was lifted. He didn't know what the words "I promise" meant, and why they left Nick so flustered. Bill was clueless, but soon it would all become crystal clear.

It was nearing 6:00 p.m. when Bill returned to his hotel room. He was tired and drained, but there was still work to do…hours of work.

"You preached about doing the job, guess you better practice what you preach." Bill said to himself.

Little did he realize, how soon all weariness would fade, and his attention consumed by the images of video evidence from Nick's abduction. If yesterday's session was difficult, tomorrows would be hell.

**I hope enjoyed reading this chapter, and thank you for doing so. Leave a review if you have the time.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The incessantly loud ringing of the bedside phone roused Dr. Bill Heitker from a fitful sleep. He reached for the phone, listened for a moment, and mumbled thanks to the person on the over end. Bill dropped his head back into the soft concave of pillows, pressed fingers to eyes in an effort to wipe the sleep away, and then squinted at the bedside clock. He picked up his watch to double check the time.

"Shit…Eleven o'clock…Shit!" Dr. Heitker protested.

Heitker slammed his head back into the pillows, and tried to remember what time he went to sleep. Last night the videos of Nick's burial became all consuming, and it wasn't until the first signs of a brightening sky that he realized the time. He knew without a doubt, before he went to sleep he told the desk to wake him at seven. He reasoned the person answering misinterpreted his wake-up call. Eleven and seven sounded much the same, and after all, this was Vegas. When in doubt, assume eleven not seven.

"Damn, damn, I wanted to talk to Willows before her shift ended. She'll be asleep by now." Bill lamented in his now fully awake state. He contemplated what to do next.

Should he continue with the scheduled 3:00 appointment or postpone until after he viewed all the videos? Should he delay until he talked to Willows and others? To go into the next session with half information would be a disservice to Nick. On the other hand, to cancel the session could be detrimental, and crush any progress they made in the past two days. After lengthy deliberation and conjecture, he chose to call Nick and postpone their afternoon session.

The phone rang quite a few times before Stokes groggily answered. Bill apologized for calling, and once Nick was coherent, he explained his reasons for delaying. Heitker knew honesty was the best policy when it came to Nick, and to his surprise Stokes wasn't discouraged or disappointed, in fact he readily agreed with the idea. Bill was thankful, but had to discern if Nick was trying to appease him, or if he too needed an extra day.

"Nick, are you sure you're ok with cancelling our session for today?"

"As much as I'd like to say I'm pissed, I can't. You hit the nail on the head yesterday, and I need time to think things through."

"Do you have questions, anything I can help with?" Bill inquired.

"No; no not right now. Guess you could say I need time to process the evidence, analyze it, and draw some conclusions of my own. Be a good scientist." Nick laughingly responded.

Bill gave a huff of a laughter in return before replying: "You know you can always call me?"

"I will, if needed."

"Please do so, anytime, the cell is always on." Bill offered.

"Guess you're going to be busy watching videos, huh?" Nick said, dejection tainting his voice.

"I'm sorry, but I must watch the remaining recordings" Bill apologized and continued "The past needs to be put back in its place, and to do so I have to understand what you went through. Please know, I'm not watching the videos as a means of invading your privacy or to cause additional stress. I'm watching the videos because volumes of that night are more than likely missing for you. Traumatic experiences usually cause people to see the events in brief snap shots vs a long-run movie...so to speak. We need to address the entire incident, beginning to end, and unfortunately to do that I need to see what happened so I can fill in the blanks. If we process every aspect of the events it will help with the healing process, get you moving forward, and not stuck in the past." Heitker explained.

"That would be good, and you're right, I have blocked out some of what happened. All I wanted to do was forget, and get back to living. I thought if everything went back to normal, if I hit my stride, did the job, I be ok, and everyone would stop worrying about me. I didn't realize it would back up, and cause more problems. Now I'm wasting your time because I didn't take care of things when I should have. I'm sorry for that."

"Nick! Please quit apologizing for what you're experiencing! Damn man, you've spent years being strong for everyone else, worrying about how they feel, making sure they were ok. You did your duty, its done son, and you have nothing to apologize for. Now is the time to take care of yourself…don't you think?" Bill returned.

"I suppose." Nick replied with a yawn.

"No supposing, now's the time, you deserve it."

Nick sighed in response. "What choice do I have?"

"There's always a choice, and I hope you choose to come to session tomorrow afternoon?"

"Yeah, I'll be there, itsallgood, I'll see ya tomorrow."

"Try to get some more rest Nick, take it easy ok?"

Bill heard another brief suppressed yawn before they said their goodbyes and ended the call. He prayed Nick found restful sleep once again. Lord knows the man needed it.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ooooooo~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Across town, Nick hit the end button on his cell phone, rolled onto his back, and pulled the soft navy blue comforter around his body once again. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table, 11:15 its digital numbers read. He couldn't believe he actually slept nearly twelve hours, especially since the norm was two or three lately.

_Maybe the good doctor is helping, who would've thought?_ Nick scoffed before the warm comfort of his bed beckoned sleep once more. The nightmares and terrors of the past remained at bay, only to be replaced with tumbling dreams of family and friends…all alive, all well…all happy. An unconscious half smile adorned Nick's sleeping face, a face that only a day ago was mired with thoughts of anguishing scenes from a horrific past.

Tomorrow's session would bring out long suppressed feelings and minds eye recollection's, it was good Nick was finding rest today because tomorrow would be draining.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ooooooo~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

While Nick was at home falling back to sleep, Dr. Heitker was in his hotel room preparing to return to the videos once more. He called room service and ordered up a large pot of coffee and lunch. While waiting, he set the alarm on his cell phone for 6 p.m. He couldn't lose track of time again, and forget to call Catherine Willows.

Bill walked over to the table that he spent so many hours hunkering over last night, and turned on his laptop. The computer logged on, the screen flickering to life. Bill grabbed the next flash-drive, and slipped it into the USB port. Soon the same sickly green hue and torturous scenes shone in ghastly clarity on the LCD. The good doctor spent many session hours listening to patients explain their traumatic experiences, but never did he have such a clear, vivid view of the actual events. _How the hell did you survive this Nick_, Bill thought to himself.

A knock at the door brought him out of his contemplation. He answered it, and allowed the server to enter with the much needed substances. Once the room service was signed for, and the server tipped, Dr. Heitker got down to business. Another long afternoon and evening lay ahead, and Bill geared up for the task.

_*********Ok, I know this was a boring chapter, but sometimes you need a transitional one before heading into the meaty stuff. There are things that need to be addressed and discussed with other characters, and I couldn't do so if I jumped into the next therapy session between Nick and Dr. Heitker. **_

_**With that explained, I hope you enjoyed this chapter nonetheless, and thank you again for reading. Any criticisms or suggestions are always appreciated. Believe it or not, I actually like getting them, and take them into consideration for upcoming **__**chapters. Please feel free to let me know what you think of the story, where it hits the mark and where it doesn't. Thanks again.**_


	8. Chapter 8

******This is a re-post of Chapter 8, I had to correct a few glaring errors. If you've already read the chapter, there's no need to read it again. **

**Chapter 8**

Final images of a horrific tale played out on the screen of Bill's laptop, leaving him with a sense of overwhelming melancholy. The images where now and forever more burned into his memory. Never was he privy to such an up-close, personal view of the trauma a patient suffered. He was consumed with anger towards the person who conceived such a brutal means of torture, but more so, he was impressed with the man who survived it.

Bill lived through hell when he served his country. He truly believed in the Seal motto: **Ready to Lead; Ready to Follow; Never Quit.** He also understood the definition of _survival of the fittest_ in more ways than he cared to remember. He was a firsthand witness to the travesties of war and battle, but never could he fathom the horror of being buried alive.

_How do I counsel Nick when I don't understand? I watched the videos, I saw what he went through, but I'm clueless as to how he survived? The will it took to survive? How does someone function after such an event? How did he move forward?_ Bill wondered as more questions flooded his mind.

_What was Nick thinking during the long hours of entrapment? Was he honestly hopeful for a rescue, truly believing it would happen, or was he denying the fact it may never come? How the fuck, did he keep it together?_

_The investigation and evidence said Nick was not specifically targeted, but how then, do I explain what happened wasn't personal? That Walter Gordon wasn't another Nigel Crane. For Nick, every aspect of this incident was damn personal. Gordon threw him into a makeshift coffin, buried him alive, and then recorded it all for others too see. In my book…that's fucking personal._ Bill reasoned.

The sudden ringing of the alarm on his cell phone pulled Bill out of his contemplation, and back to the present. He clicked the alarm off and dialed the number Catherine Willows gave him the day they met.

"Willows" she answered.

"Hello Ms. Willows, its Bill Heitker."

"Dr. Heitker, how are you?"

"Please, it's Bill, and I'm ok, how about yourself?"

"I'm fine, how's Nick?"

"He's doing better, definitely not 100%, but better. I spoke with him this morning and we decided to cancel our session today, in order that I may finish watching the videos from his abduction." Bill explained.

"Oh, you mean the Gordon case…and Nick was ok with that?" Catherine questioned.

"I wouldn't say he was thrilled with the idea, but understood the reasons. Ms. Willows I have a request; I need to speak with you about Nick's stalker, and the abduction case. I would also like to speak with those involved with Nick's search and rescue during the abduction. I understand if you, or your team, do not wish to participate."

"When would you like to speak with us?"

"Tonight if at all possible, please understand I wouldn't rush this if it weren't absolutely necessary. We postponed one session, which is understandable, but postponing two could become problematic." Heitker justified.

"I understand. I'll gather the crew, most are on shift tonight; we'll work out a schedule. Would you like me to contact Gil Grissom too?"

"Yes, if possible. I'd like to speak with him."

"He's speaking at conferences in Europe, but I'll see if I can reach him. I think we're roughly eight hours behind, so I'll try his number in a few hours." Catherine rationalized.

"Thank you."

"Shift here starts at eleven, but if you get to the lab by eight we can speak privately. In the meantime, I'll work out a schedule for the rest of the team."

"Thank you Ms. Willows thanks for helping me out."

"Please call me Catherine, and thank you for helping us, especially Nicky."

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ooooooo~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Dr. Heitker arrived at the CSI Labs shortly before his appointed time, and was immediately ushered into Catherine's office. After brief greetings between the two, they got down to the business at hand.

**Transcript for 7-8-2010 8:00 p.m.** _This transcript is from the conversation between myself and Supervisor Catherine Willows in regards to Nick Stokes' stalker (Nigel Crane) case and his abduction and burial 5 ½ years ago, by Walter Gordon._

"First, I would like to discuss the stalking case involving Nick. Can you give me some insight into the case, and the consequences?"

"Crane was a psych case; he was obsessed with Nick, and stalked him. Crane wanted to take over Nick's life, to be him, to kill him, and he tried too, but Nick fought back and survived."

"Ok, I know the facts of the case, but what happened after?"

"Brass and the guys arrested Crane. He was later convicted, and sent to the psych ward at the state prison. He's still there, trust me I keep track."

_(I wasn't sure if Willows was in a state of denial about what Nick went through, or if she truly didn't know. It was time to address the situation.)_

"What did Nick do after Crane was arrested? Where did he go after?"

"We were all in the observation room while Crane was questioned. I remember Gil explaining some theory as to why it happened, and I remember Crane melting down while questioned. When it was over, we all went back to the lab. I called Nick the next day to see how he was, and he said he was still sore, but otherwise fine."

"When you spoke to Nick did he tell you where he was staying, did you ask?"

"No, I didn't ask…

_(I waited the two beat, and the realization I knew that would come) _

"Oh God, I can't believe I didn't ask! His home was a crime scene; he didn't have anywhere to go, what the hell was I thinking? What kind of friend am I? What kind of person does that to a friend?"

"Catherine you didn't know, and you weren't the only one who didn't think about the after-effects."

"I don't think any of us realized…I know I didn't. We abandoned Nick, we left him behind; we didn't have his back. I need to apologize to him, I need to call him."

"No, please don't…at least not yet. You can apologize in a few days.

_(Catherine looked up, and skepticism stared me straight in the eye)_

"Please don't call him Catherine. I swear I'm not being deceptive with Nick, but right now, he doesn't need to know we're speaking about this, it will only add undue stress. I will tell him we spoke, what we discussed, and why, but not yet please."

"Nick and I don't lie to each other, and I don't like this, but I'll follow your lead for now."

_(Never was I more relieved to hear Catherine's word of acquiesce) _

"I understand Nick's kidnapping was a difficult experience, not only for him, but also the entire team. Can you give me some insight as to how the events occurred?"

_(Catherine took a calming breath, folded her hands as if in prayer, and began the lengthy explanation of the events that evening and the next day. When she finished she was drained, tear tracks stained her features as the scene came to an end in her mind. I'm seldom a man lost for words, but at that moment, I had none to give. I still cannot reconcile how Nick survived, how he moved forward, how the PTSD symptoms didn't rear their ugly head sooner. Catherine and I remained in comfortable quiet for a few moments, both of us needed time to collect ourselves.)_

"I'm sorry Bill for being so emotional, but these last few years have taken a toll."

"No apology is necessary. I know this is a personal question, but are you talking to someone, a therapist perhaps, about what's happened?"

"Yes, I've been seeing a psychologist for quite some time now. I'm ok, and I'm not normally this emotional, but seeing Nick struggle lately…well it's just hitting close to home. I guess I see myself in him and wonder how long before I'm walking in his shoes?"

"You're taking steps to prevent that from happening, and that's half the battle. I think you're doing ok Catherine."

"Will Nick be ok, I mean, will he ever be himself again?"

"I believe he will. He's in a mountain of pain right now, and everything is tumbling out of control, but it will get better. I have to be honest I'm surprised this didn't happen sooner. Nick's will to survive, and his ability to move forward is like nothing I've witnessed before. I'm still trying to wrap my brain around surviving that many hours buried alive, the fire ants, and the explosion. I know he spoke with a therapist while in the hospital, but I see no record of him talking to anyone after his release. Do you know if he did?"

"Not that I know of, and trust me, that's no surprise. He'll worry himself to death about a case, no pun intended. He'll analyze every shred of evidence twice if needed. I've seen him work days with little more than an hour or two of sleep. He's protective of his friends, but more so his family, and I'm thankful to be considered family. Nicky's the man of steel, I think it's the way he was raised. You know, tough it up, be a man."

"You're right, you hit the mark, but I need to know how Nick was in the days and weeks following his kidnapping?"

_(Catherine didn't immediately respond; she took a few moments to collect her thoughts.)_

"The first days after his rescue were a whirlwind. The ant venom caused anaphylaxis, and compromised his breathing to the point of life threatening. That in turn caused him to be placed on a ventilator, heart monitor, chilling blankets, a myriad of other equipment, and God knows how many medications. He was kept well sedated essentially the doctors placed him into a medically induced coma.

_(Catherine paused again; the painful memory was clearly reflected on her face)_

"The doctors and Nick's parents believed that, given the circumstances, it was better he didn't remember the tube down his throat, the machine's beeping, or the intense pain of the bites. As much as I wanted to see Nicky awake, I didn't disagree with their decision.

_(Catherine paused once more, but then continued_)

The team kept vigil, and prayed for his recovery those first days. The doctor and staff slowly weaned him off the ventilator and medications, and Nick regained some bleary sense of consciousness. He was understandably jumpy and confused those first few days after awaking, and it was painful to watch. It was even more painful to watch his parents and their anguish. They never left his side, no matter how many times we told them they needed to rest too. God I could feel their pain, and every time I looked at Nick, I kept seeing my daughter lying there, and knew I couldn't be as strong as the Stokes' were."

_(Tears streamed down Catherine's face as she thought about Nick's parents)_

"I was so proud of everyone on the team, the lab, the Coroner's office, and PD. They made sure someone was with Nick and his family at all times. Just a few of us saw Nick while he was hospitalized, but the rest were always nearby to take care of his family. Two weeks after he was admitted, Nick was released from the hospital, but he was far from recovered. The welts from the bites may have faded, but the nightmares were still fresh every time he tried to sleep."

"Would you say it was nightmares or night terrors?"

"I don't understand what you mean?"

"When Nick woke did he remember what the dream was about? Was cognizant of his surroundings? Was he able to calm down soon after?"

"No, no he shook for what seemed like hours after he woke. We tried to calm him, but the fear always seemed to be lurking. We all just assumed it was nightmares. What is the difference between nightmares and night terrors?"

"Nightmares happen during REM sleep. They present in a movie-like production, and are quite vivid. The patient usually remembers them, but the fear caused by them fades fast. Night terrors occur during deep non-REM sleep. The patient usually has no recollection of the episode other than an intense sense of fear. This however, is not always the case. Quite a few people can remember portions of the night terror, and some the whole thing. The main difference is the nightmare and fear fade, but the night terror and fear don't."

"Then I would say Nick was experiencing night terrors, but we had no idea…why didn't we see it?"

_(It was obvious Catherine was appalled that they didn't recognize the initial problems back then, and I had to stop her self-doubt)_

"You didn't know the difference. Don't blame yourself, it's not yours or the teams fault."

"But, this could've been prevented years ago, why not blame myself?"

"You didn't know…simple as that. You didn't do anything wrong Catherine…nothing. Do you understand?"

"I understand, but it doesn't make it easier."

"No, no it doesn't. But, that's why we're scientist, we're always learning, always discovering."

"Now you sound like Grissom, that's something he would say."

_(I have no desire to be compared to Gilbert Grissom, but I tried to hide my disdain of the man I have yet to speak with.) _

"I doubt Gil Grissom and I have much in common, but I'll take your word for it. Can you tell me more about Nick's case?"

"You mean the Gordon case?"

_(I find it interesting everyone calls it the Gordon case, and I had to ask why?)_

"Why does everyone call it the Gordon case, and not Nick's abduction or kidnapping?"

"It's the Gordon case, he's dead; Nick isn't!"

"But…"

"It's the Gordon case, that's it."

_(I didn't understand why, but knew if I continued to pursue the reason, I'd alienate Catherine Willows. It was best that I changed tracks.)_

"Maybe we should change gears?"

"Yeah, that's a good idea. You asked how Nick was in the months following?"

"Yes, yes I did."

"Nick came back strong as ever, he didn't falter. He took some time off, went back home for a few weeks, but came back with a new resilience."

"And, there were no changes? He simply went back to normal."

"He grew a spectacularly bad moustache for a few weeks, and he let his hair grow for a while, but otherwise, he came back even more determined."

"I see."

"I see sounds like we screwed up, like we missed something."

_(Again, Catherine became defensive.)_

"No, I don't think you missed anything. Nick did what was expected of him, he toughed it up. He grew weary of feeling weak, and did everything in his power to suppress the fear, the anxiety. We both know he's good at that. The moustache and hair were nothing more than brief disguises to help him through."

"So you're saying we should worry when he changes his appearance?"

"That's not always the case, but sometimes people change their appearance to hide or transition to a new phase in life. They grow their hair, cut their hair, change the color, change clothing style, gain weight, or lose weight."

"That's interesting, and explains Nick's changes throughout the years. He's always changed something about himself after a traumatic event. When he started here years ago, he always wore khaki's and a dress shirt or polo. After the Crane case, he began wearing jeans and more casual shirts. Shortly after he and Warrick got into it over a coked out bar singer, he shaved his hair off. After Gordon, came the moustache, long hair, and dark clothes. The moustache and hair disappeared quickly, but the dark clothes stayed. That's interesting."

"It is, isn't it? Most people never realize they do it; it's an unconscious decision, but a telling one."

"Let me guess, you just let me in on the biggest secret to the world of psychoanalysis?"

"Yes, absolutely, it's all about fashion and hairstyles. We determine everything about a person by what they wear, and their hairstyles. That's the all telling factor to psycho-analysis."

_(Catherine burst into laughter, for the first time since we met I truly saw her beauty…the inner and outer.)_

"Thank you for making me laugh, that felt good."

"It's my job…part trauma therapist, part comedian."

"Stick with the day job I think you have a better future in it."

"No plans to leave it, and I hate to turn serious again, but you understand I'm going to have more questions…and soon."

"I know, but it felt good to laugh, if even for a few seconds."

"We'll talk soon?"

"Yes, I'm sure we will."

_(A sense of melancholy returned to Catherine's features, I have to wonder how long she'll stay with the job. Call it gut instinct, but I believe her departure is eminent) _

"Take care Catherine, and I know this is easy to say, but don't worry. I'll see Nick through this."

"Please do, and thank you Bill."

**End Transcript 7-8-2010.** _With Supervisor Catherine Willows. _

Catherine excused herself from the office, while Bill waited for the next person to relive the horrific past. He hated this part of his job. He felt as if he was invading his patient's private life, but he also knew in cases of PTSD, it was a necessary evil. PTSD didn't follow the normal protocols of patient-doctor confidentiality. PTSD patients often blocked out events, and the gaps needed to be filled. Bill knew he was doing the right thing, he knew he had Nick's consent, but he was never comfortable with the idea. He glanced at the schedule Catherine provided, and recognized the next name on the list.

"Greg Sanders…essentially Nick's younger brother from another mother…this should be enlightening."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Greg entered the office a few minutes after Catherine's departure. He and Dr. Heitker shared congenial greetings, and knowing time was limited, they immediately started. The doctor explained why he wished to speak with Greg, and asked him if he would consent to their conversation being recorded. Greg gave his consent, and they began.

**Transcript for: 7-8-2010, 10:30 p.m. **_This is the transcript of the conversation with CSI Level 3 Greg Sanders, in regards to Nick Stokes._

"Ok Greg, I know we spoke before, but I know very little about you. Why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself?"

"Well let's see…I was born and raised in California, I had a fairly normal childhood, my teenage years were hard, but I think almost everyone's teenage years were in some way or another."

"Yes, it's to be expected. Between the raging hormones, the peer pressure, and trying to find your place, it's brutal."

_(I imagine Greg's teenage years were difficult, I doubt he was part of the "in-crowd." I see him as the honor student trying to fly under the radar, though I could be wrong.) _

"Yeah it was brutal, but I survived...hey, if you can make it through high school, that's half the battle."

"What brought you to Las Vegas; did your family move here?"

"Oh no, they still live in California. I came to Vegas about two years after getting my MBS in Molecular Biology. I was working at CalSci as an assistant to a Biologist doing research on molecule inheritance. The guy had a dodgy hypothesis he was trying to prove, and I hated every minute of being his gopher. I knew I could do more with my education than taking notes for some quack. I was interested in Forensics and how DNA was solving new, and cold case, crimes. Anyway, one day I had enough, and started sending my resume out to Universities specializing in forensics, and also to crime labs across the country. My pipedream job was with one of the major crime labs. For months I didn't hear anything, and then one day the Director of the lab here in Vegas contacted me. Needless to say, when he offered me a job, I took it. You don't pass up an offer from one of the best forensic labs in the country. I moved here in May 1999, and I never looked back."

_(I barely know Greg, but I'm not surprised by his impatience with the "dodgy professor" or getting his career off the ground.) _

"How was it in the beginning?"

"Nerve wracking, and then some. I didn't exactly fit the mold of the Clark County Crime Lab. I was a California kid with spikey hair, too much energy, and even I have to admit…odd ways. I was the square peg in the round hole, if you know what I mean."

"I think I get the picture. Let me see, when you started here the shift you were assigned to consisted of: Jim Brass as Supervisor; Gil Grissom as Assistant Supervisor, Catherine Willows was a CSI Level 3, and Warrick Brown and Nick Stokes were CSI Level 2's, is that correct?"

"Yeah, yeah that's right."

"How was it working with them in the beginning?"

"It's funny looking back at it now. I was so intimidated and awkward around everyone back then. I knew how to do the job, I knew how to process DNA and then some, but I always became a bumbling idiot around Grissom and Brass. Catherine humored me, but I was so awkward around her, and Warrick and Nick…well let's just say they had bets on how long I'd survive."

"I'm sure that was a difficult time."

"Overwhelming would better describe it, but after about two months something changed…I remember that day like it was yesterday. Conrad Ecklie was day-shift supervisor back then, and he had just chewed my ass out for processing other evidence before his. Evidently, he believed his evidence took precedence over all others. He made me feel foolish, incompetent, like I wasn't doing my job. Then to add insult to injury, a few minutes later Warrick and Nick came into the lab looking for their results from a case two nights earlier. I told them I didn't have it yet, and Warrick blew a gasket, but Nick…well he didn't. He calmed Warrick down, and asked him to give us a few minutes. Rick wasn't happy, but he didn't argue and left us alone. Nick and I talked for a while, and you know, he was the first person to ask me if everything was ok, if I was ok. I explained what happened, and he clued me in about Ecklie. After that the flood gates opened, I told him about feeling intimidated and awkward around the bosses, and he said he often felt the same way. I had no idea a guy like Nick could feel the same way as a lab rat like me. He gave the impression of being just another cool guy, a jock, the type of guy who bullied me for years, but I discovered he wasn't like that…that wasn't him."

"You're right, Nick is many things, but uncompassionate is not him."

"My Papa Olaf always said: _Don't judge a book by its cover_, and he was right. That night I realized everyone doubts their abilities, but more importantly, that night I became part of the team because Nick took time to talk to me. I wouldn't say I became any less awkward or self-conscious, but at least I knew I wasn't alone."

"Did you ever tell Nick about that night?"

"No I haven't, and I don't know why. He's helped me out so many times over the years, taught me so much, but I've never truly thanked him. Life can be short, and I know in a moment's notice it could all be over, but I keep taking for granted we'll have more time. Two lousy minute, that's all it would take to thank Nick. What's two minutes in the grand scheme of things?"

"We take time, and the people we care about for granted. Its human nature Greg, and with Nick it's easy to assume he'll always be ok. He survived Crane, Gordon, and this last incident."

"He survived physically, but did he survive emotionally?"

"Nick is experiencing a bump in the road, so to speak, but he'll get better."

"I've been researching you and PTSD since our first conversation. I'm sorry if I invaded your privacy Dr. Heitker, but I had to understand the person who's helping my friend."

"I see; I hope you weren't disappointed with what you found."

"No, I wasn't disappointed. You're definitely legit, and you carry quite the resume. Your work with Veterans and Law Enforcement is impressive, but your personal history is even more striking. I think Nick's in good hands."

"Thanks, Greg, and I'm not upset that you looked up my credentials. I would've done the same if I were in your shoes. Do you have questions about PTSD or the treatment?"

"I have to be honest, before this happened with Nick I didn't know much about PTSD or the treatment."

"What have you learned through your research?"

"Nick's had many of the symptoms, not all at once, nor continuously, but he's had them. I know he had nightmares and a fear of small enclosed spaces after the Gordon case, but who wouldn't after that. We all kept asking Nick if he was ok, and he always said he was fine…but I think we dropped the ball, we should've pushed to find out.

_( Greg paused, and I could see wheels turning as he pieced together his thoughts.)_

"Nick kind of detached from the team for a while after Gordon, and unfortunately we accepted it. I don't know who was in denial more…Nick or us?"

"It's a natural reaction Greg, especially given the circumstances of the case. The people responsible never stood trial for their crimes, justice was never served, they were indeed punished, but not in the traditional sense. Everyone involved, and especially Nick, was left hanging with no sense of conclusion or closure."

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense. When I was attacked the suspects responsible were arrested for what they did…well all but one."

_(I'm shocked to learn Greg was also attacked.)_

"I didn't know you were attacked Greg, when did that happen?"

"A few years back a gang of thugs were going around town beating up locals and tourist, they killed one guy. Anyway, I was driving to an unrelated case, and I passed this alley and saw them attacking another victim. I called for backup, but there was no way they'd get there in time, I had to stop them before they killed the guy. So I drove into the alley, and unfortunately I hit and killed one of the kids, and that's when the rest of them yanked me out of the SUV and beat the crap out of me. I thought for sure I was a goner, but evidently they heard the patrols coming and took off. Long story short, the team made sure the gang was caught and arrested, but I was cited for hitting the kid. The County eventually settled out of court with the James family, but not before my creditability was shot to hell during the trial. It was a ridiculous fiasco, Demetrius James was involved in a victim's death, he was involved in beating another man and woman, but somehow I became the bad guy, the guilty party."

_(This is simply an opinion on my part, but the Judicial System seems to be a fickle mistress.)_

"You were also left with no conclusion to a terrible trauma?"

"No, in my case the suspects responsible were punished. Every day I regret that Demetrius James died, but he was responsible for his own death, not me. He chose to follow the pack mentality, he chose to beat down victims, and kill an innocent person. From what I understand James was a bright kid, he knew the difference between right and wrong, but he chose the wrong path. I regret what happened, and always will, but ultimately Demetrius James caused of his own death."

"I agree Greg, and I'm thankful you realize it wasn't your fault."

"Hey, they don't send you to months of counseling for nothing. I hope you can help Nick realize he wasn't responsible for anything that happened, and that he wasn't responsible for Officer Clark's death."

"That's the ultimate goal Greg, but let me ask you a question…why do you think the effect of PTSD caught up with Nick, but not you?"

"Wow, that's a loaded question, I don't know if I can answer."

"I'm just looking for insight, and the more information I have, the better I can do my job."

_(Greg took time to collect his thoughts.)_

"Nick and I…well we're different, and I know I'm stating the obvious, but put the obvious aside. Nick and I are different because I didn't experienced what he did, I can empathize, but I don't truly understand. I don't know what it's like to have a gun held to my head at point-blank range. I don't know what it's like to be buried alive, nor what it's like to have ants eat at your flesh, or realize the air is running out and it's over. Warrick and I were friends, but I have no idea how his murder effected Nick, after all, they were as close as brothers. I heard rumors about Nick catching up to McKeen, but I don't know what actually happened. I don't know what it's like to be shot, be in pain, and still have the presence of mind to know you're the last defense left. I don't know what it's like to lose an officer on your watch, a man you sent into the line of fire. I have a vivid imagination Dr. Heitker, but even I can't imagine what Nick's gone through since we met. I didn't live it, I didn't walk in his shoes."

_(I could see tears forming in Greg's eyes as he recounted the events. He may not have personally experienced what Nick did, but it's personal, no matter what. I tried to find the right words in response. I'm a doctor, a specialist, I should've known what to say. I seldom refer to Biblical references, but in this case, it seemed to fit. )_

"Judge not, lest ye be judge."

"Yeah, something like that. I guess what I'm saying is, none of us understand what Nick's gone through. Everyone on the team has faced life threatening situations at one time or another, but none of us have experienced so many."

_(Greg took a cleansing breath, and then continued.)_

All I know is, my friend is in trouble, he's hurting, and I'm worried about him. What if he can't get past this. The County pays for extended medical leave, but not extended psych leave. What if the department lets him go. Nick loves his job…it will kill him if he can't do it anymore. It truly will be over if that happens."

"That won't happen, I won't let it happen, and I'll do everything in my power to see Nick through."

"I'm glad you're here to help him, I'm glad Jim and Catherine called you."

"I know this is a personal question, and you don't have to answer, but are you still seeing a therapist Greg?"

_(These situations often have a trickle-down effect, and I was concerned if Greg was still talking to someone. I hated to ask, but it was necessary.)_

"I no longer see the department psychologist, but I do see someone outside the department, we talk every few weeks."

"Good, good, I'm glad to hear that."

"If there's one piece of advice I'd love to give Nick, it would be that there's no shame in seeing a therapist. He has to stop trying to be Robo-CSI. I've learned it helps to talk to someone who isn't involved in your day-to-day life. As you said, someone who doesn't judge or have pre-conceived notions."

"You'll get no argument from me on the matter, and I'm glad to hear you're still speaking with someone. So many in Law Enforcement and the Armed Services never realize the benefits. I was one of those guys who didn't get it until it was almost too late. Seeing a psychiatrist or psychologist doesn't make you weak or crazy. Unfortunately, that's the perpetual stigma of _balls to the wall_ type jobs."

"I don't understand why, but you're right."

"It's a narrow-minded view, but unfortunately it's true. I know talking about Nick's PTSD condition is difficult and uncomfortable, but thank you for your insight and perspective Greg."

"A part of me feels like a tattletale, but the other part knows I'm doing the right thing."

"You did the right thing. The information you gave, will help with counseling Nick tomorrow afternoon, and that's all that matters…right?"

"I'll do anything to help Nick. He can be a pain in my ass, especially since he became the Assistant Supervisor, but I can't imagine doing this job without him."

_(We both laughed at the comment)_

"I hate to end this now Greg, and I'm sorry, but as you know time for these consultations is limited. Thank you for your help, you've given me some ground to work with, and that's beyond valuable."

"If I can help out in any other way Dr. Heitker, just let me know. Please take care of Nick for us, ok?"

"Will do Greg, and thanks again."

_(Once again, I was touched by Greg's compassion and concern for his colleague. I know I said this before, but in my opinion, they truly are brothers from a different mother.)_

**End Transcript 7-8-2010: **_With CSI Level 3 Greg Sanders._

The men shook hands, and Greg went back to the lab to work on a case from the previous evening. Dr. Heitker made a few notations, and then quickly prepared for his next consultation.

**Thanks for reading.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The knock at the door of Catherine Willows office signaled the next interview for Dr. Heitker. The doctor greeted the tall, attractive brunette, and though he didn't speak with her during the initial interviews, he knew who she was.

"Hi I'm Dr. Bill Heitker; please feel free to call me Bill."

"Hi Bill, I'm Sara Sidle, it's nice to meet you, though I wish the circumstances were different."

"I'm sure by now you know why I wished to speak with you." Bill questioned.

"Yes, Catherine explained why, but I'm not sure if I'll be of much help. Honestly, I'm not comfortable speaking about Nick behind his back." Sara admitted.

"I assure you I only have Nick's best interest at heart, and wouldn't be doing this if not absolutely necessary."

"And, why is it necessary?"

"As you know, Nick is suffering from PTSD, and with this condition sometimes stretches of memory before, during or after the traumatic events become disjointed or completely lost to the patient. I'm asking for help from Nick's colleagues in order to help him fill in those blanks, and in doing so, the disjointed images and lost moments will be laid to rest." Bill explained.

"I see, and exactly what do you want to know?" Sara probed.

"I'd like to ask you questions about Nick's stalker, and also about the night of the kidnapping. I'd like to know what you witnessed during these events, and how you believe it affected Nick." Bill expounded.

"Ok, but if I'm uncomfortable with a question, or if I believe it compromises Nick's privacy, I won't answer."

"Fair enough. Would you mind if I record our conversation Sara? I may need to refer back."

"Did the others allow you to do so?" Sara asked.

"Yes they did, but if you would prefer not to, that's fine, I'll take notes instead."

"No, I'd rather my exact words were on record, and not your interpretation of them." Sara stated.

"I'm not the bad guy in this scenario, Sara. The recordings are for my use only, they will not be heard by anyone else, be that another therapist, the department, or even Nick. Once my sessions with Nick are completed, any recordings will be destroyed."

"I don't want to be difficult Doctor…I'm just looking out for Nick. I'm worried how all of this will affect him and his career. Catherine and Jim have kept everything well contained, but this lab is a gossip mill. If a hint of Nick's troubles gets out…well his future with the department will be over." Sara clarified.

"I know how even the hint of a meltdown, or the stigma of seeing a therapist works with law enforcement and the military. I once wore the crazy, burnt-out soldier moniker when I served, I understand the ramifications, and wouldn't wish that on anyone. Jim, Catherine and I will do everything in our power to ensure Nick doesn't get labeled."

"Please see that you do, because you're right, it's not pleasant being labeled as _on the edge_ or _burnt out. _People don't readily trust you after that." Sara admitted.

"I take it you're well versed on the matter." Bill stated.

"Yes, and though it's not easy to admit, I truly was burned out. My time away from the department did wonders, but the stigma still lingers. Nick's worked hard to get where he is, he's overcome mountains, and I'd hate to see him lose it all because of circumstances beyond his control." Sara replied.

"Then you and I are on the same page."

"Good."

"Are you ready to begin the Q&A?" Bill asked.

"Let's do it."

**Transcript for: 7-8-2010, 12:00 a.m. **_This is the transcript of the conversation between CSI level 3 Sara Sidle, in regards to Nick Stokes._

"First, I'd like to ask you about Nigel Crane. What can you tell me about the stalker incident, and how Nick was before, during and after?"

"I'm sure you've read the details of the case."

"Yes, I've read the case files, but can you give me a more in-depth insight."

"As you know from the reports; Gil, Catherine and I canvased Jane Galloway's neighborhood, while Warrick and Nick went to Luna Cable's main office to see who installed her system. The rep at Luna Cable said the installer was Crane, but he wasn't working that day because he called in sick. I don't know for sure, but I imagine the guys saw red flags with that information, you'll have to ask Nick to be certain."

"I'll ask him. Please continue."

_(At this point, and regrettably, I was being less than honest with Sara. I already knew Nick and I wouldn't be discussing the Crane case tomorrow, the next session would be about Nick's abduction and burial. That being said; I had to understand Sara's interpretations of the Crane incident, and how it may have affected the end results of Nick's PTSD condition. No matter what, I needed to gain Sara's trust in order for her to let down her guard and open up.)_

"I remember Gil getting a call from the guys, to let him know they were headed to Crane's home to question him. About a half hour later, all hell broke loose when we heard Warrick's _officer down_ call come across the radio. You could hear the panic in his voice, and I thought: _Oh my God, Nick's down_. We dropped everything, and rushed to the scene. When we arrived the paramedics were in the process of immobilizing Nick and strapping him to a backboard. Warrick was nearby, pacing like a caged tiger, and Gil went to check on him. Catherine and I went to check on Nick. He was in pain, and a bit out of it, I'm not sure if he knew we were there. Catherine, Warrick and I followed the ambulance to the hospital, and Gil stayed behind until the scene was secured. The wait in the ER seemed interminable, and we were all antsy too say the least. I remember Gil arrived shortly before we received word on Nick's condition. The doctor told us it could have been alot worse, and she was right, it could've been."

"I saw the photos of the building and read the hospital report, and I'm surprised it wasn't worse. Nick definitely had an angel on his shoulder that day."

"Nick's guardian angel is kept busy most days, and deserves a hefty bonus, or at least a vacation…an extended vacation."

_(We both laughed, even though it was a bit of a morose joke. I was pleasantly surprised by Sara Sidle. She's tough as nails, but also seems to have gentleness that I imagine few are privy too.)_

"What else do you remember?"

"Once we received the all ok from the doctor, Gil and Catherine went back to process the scene, while Warrick and I stayed with Nick. The doctor wanted to keep an eye on Nick because of the concussion, and fall. After he was released Warrick and I dropped him off at home, and…"

_(Sara paused in thought, as if unwilling to reveal more, but I pushed)_

"And"

"It's nothing really."

"Tell me Sara…you and Warrick dropped Nick off at home…And?"

"No! It's nothing really."

"I know there's more you want say Sara…"

"Warrick and I dropped Nick off at home, and we didn't check it out, we didn't clear his house, we didn't think about Nick being Crane's main objective. Warrick and I were too busy trying to one up each other, to get back to the lab and give our, oh so important, input. We didn't realize the imminent threat. Nick almost died because Warrick and I couldn't push past our competitive pettiness, and Morris Pearson did die. We were damn fools."

"Have you ever talked to Nick about this?"

"Yes, yes we did. It was shortly after Warrick died, and Nick was beating himself up for not leaving the diner that night with Warrick. I explained how I did exactly the same after Crane attacked him and the reasons why. He said it wasn't our fault, we couldn't have known Crane was lying in wait, and unlike Warrick, he didn't die. I couldn't believe Nick was blaming himself, after all, everyone thought the Gedda case was closed, Warrick was cleared, Pritchard was the culprit, and at that point no one expected McKeen as the mastermind."

"It sounds like you and Nick are very similar."

"Oh no, we're like night and day. I think one of our favorite past times is bickering and provoking each other."

"Oh, I see how it is. You two have worked together so long that the taunting has become a well-choreographed dance, so to speak. It's entertaining to get a rise out of each other."

"We don't always play nice, but in the end we make up and put it behind us. Nick and I have come to an understanding in that regard. We've learned life is too short for petty grudges between friends."

"That's a good lesson to learn, I wish more people would practice it. I hate to switch gears Sara, but how was Nick after the Crane case."

"If you're asking if I knew where Nick went after we left the interview room, Catherine told me. Bill, I also had no idea, I can't believe how inconsiderate we all were, and I can't imagine how Nick must have felt. As to how he was in the weeks following…I would say he was watchful, not paranoid or anything, just watchful."

"What can you tell me about the night Nick was kidnapped?"

"You probably know this from the reports, but the guys were working the swing shift back then. As far as I know, the shift began as normal, nothing out of the ordinary. Warrick was sent out on one case, and Nick to another. A short while later, maybe 7 PM or so, Officer Michaels call came across the radio saying Nick was missing from the scene and presumed abducted. The all hands on deck call went out immediately, and I rushed to the lab to help out. The timeline of that night is a bit disjointed for me, everything happened so fast, yet painfully dragged on. One minute we were racing a hundred miles an hour to find the next shred of evidence, and the next we were standing dumbfounded staring at a video screen, and watching our friend suffer."

_(Tears welled in Sara's eyes, and understandably she stopped speaking. Her emotions were raw. I handed her a tissue, and told her to take her time.) _

"We can stop anytime Sara, I know this is difficult."

"No, I can continue. It's just hard, you know, to think about Nick in that damn plexi-glass coffin. I didn't truly understand the isolation, the desolation he felt, until I experienced something similar. I don't know if anyone told you, but I also was abducted."

"I was informed of your abduction, nothing in detail, other than when it happened and the chain of events after."

"The details of the cases can be read in reports, and the gist of those report's say Nick and I were targets of revenge. What the reports don't say is the toll those cases took. I remember being lost in the middle of nowhere after my abduction, my arm broken, my body bruised, and thinking: _well at least I'm not buried underground being eaten by ants._ I can't believe I even thought that, gallows humor I suppose. I don't remember, but Gil told me later, that Nick and Sofia were the ones who found me. When I thanked Nick he said he was just returning the favor, and that we both needed to stay out of trouble for a long while. He had the wear-with-all to bounce back after his kidnapping, I didn't. Though I will admit there were times I was worried about him, worried about his actions."

"What was it about his actions that concerned you?"

"Sometimes it seemed like he'd leap without looking, and on rare occasions his temper would flare. It was never a serious, day after day thing, but still it was noticeable, and so unlike his normal self. Six months later, it was as if his kidnapping never happened. You know, I really feel silly even bring this up, I mean who am I to criticize him, especially given the fact that I left the lab after my case."

"Everyone handles trauma different Sara, for you it was good to walk away for awhile, to decompress. It seems Nick's way of dealing was to get back into a routine, and push the trauma aside. Which way is better depends on the person. The PTSD symptoms Nick's suffering from now may never have appeared if the shooting hadn't occurred. It's hard to say."

"I doubt the symptoms would have appeared if the shooting hadn't happened. It's a shame because Nick was doing great before that night, the past was in the past, and he moved on. Like I said, he had the wear-with-all."

"We're going to make sure he finds that once again."

"I sure hope so. I know the Nick I met years ago has long since grown up, became more serious, but I'd like to see a hint of the old-Nick every once in awhile. I know you can't make any guarantees on psychological treatments, but please do your best to help Nick get better."

"I will do everything in my power to make sure that happens. I think we should stop for now, but would it be ok for me to contact you if I have more questions?"

"Yes absolutely Bill."

"Thank you for your help Sara."

"Thank you for helping Nick."

**End Transcript 7-8-2010:** _With CSI Level 3 Sara Sidle_

Dr. Heitker said goodbye to Sara, and then began preparing for his telephone conversation with Gil Grissom. Bill was not looking forward to this conversation. He feared his preconceived (and possibly unjust) notions of Dr. Grissom would cloud his thinking. He knew he had to put all preconceived notions aside, and think of only Nick's well-being. Bill looked over his notes, made additional notations, and then dialed the international number.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Dark billowing clouds hung over the Thames as Gil Grissom waited for the call from the States. Catherine already informed him of the forthcoming call, and the details as to why. Grissom was sorry to hear of Nick's difficulties, but he wasn't surprised. It was inevitable, that one day, Nick Stokes would fall from grace, and the past would catch up with him. The only surprise for Grissom was it didn't happen sooner.

In the late morning gloom of his hotel suite, Grissom contemplated his years as Nick's supervisor. He ran case after case through his mind, the good, the bad, the solved, and the ones that got away. He critiqued each case he could remember with a critical mind set, and tried to determine where and when Nick faltered. What was the turning point, where did Nick fall short?

Grissom once told Nick he was his best student, but now he reassessed the opinion. If Nick truly was his best students, he should have known it was time to seek help and admit he had a problem. If Nick truly was his best student, he would have learned to quell his empathic nature long ago, and focus only on the case at hand. Grissom thought back to the times Stokes frustrated him with his stubbornness and single mindedness. Yes, Nick was always a determined individual, but sometimes that determination was a liability rather than an asset.

Grissom began taking notes on cases and occurrences he wanted to discuss with Dr. Heitker. He was certain his input on Nick's personality and shortcomings would be beneficial to the doctor. In Gil's opinion, it was time for Nick Stokes to realize he can't save the world and to accept the fact.

Grissom gave his notes the once-over, and was pleased with the list he'd written. _Yes, this is a good start; this will definitely help the doctor in treating Nick_…Grissom thought. He set the notepad down, and was about to call room service, to order his lunch, when his cell phone rang. He read the caller I.D. and answered…

"Gil Grissom."

""Hello Dr. Grissom, this is Dr. Bill Heitker."

"Yes, I've been expecting your call Dr. Heitker."

"I understand Catherine Willows notified you, and filled you in on recent events. Is this correct?"

"Yes, she did."

"And she told you I'd like to ask some questions about Nick Stokes and your time working with him."

"That will be fine, though you should know my next conference begins at 2:00p.m., and I like to arrive at least a half hour early, but that should leave us enough time to discuss Nick."

_(It seemed Dr. Grissom was proving my first impression of him to be true. Two hour's… was that all Nick Stokes was worth. Is that what Nick's well-being, his sanity, his life came down to for Gil Grissom…two fucking hours. Is this the same man who risked everything to find Nick after Walter Gordon abducted him? What changed during the Gordon case? Was the breaking up of his team a factor, was his ego bruised, did he want to prove the boss wrong, or did he realize his past follies. After Nick's abduction and his physical recovery, what made Gil Grissom revert back to his old ways? All of these questions rushed through my mind, and I wanted to ask them all at once, but I bit my tongue. No sense in alienating Grissom before we began. I pressed onward.)_

"Dr. Grissom, I would like to record our call, in case I need to refer back to our conversation. The recording will be strictly confidential. No one else will be allowed to listen to it, even Nick. Do you give your consent?"

"Yes."

"Ok, let's begin."

**Transcript for: 7-9-2010, 3:30 a.m. Las Vegas time; 11:30 a.m. London time. **_This is the transcript of the conversation with former Supervisor Dr. Gilbert Grissom, in regards to Assistant Supervisor/ LVPD CSI Nicholas Stokes._

"Dr. Grissom, as you know, your former colleague Nick Stokes is being treated for symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. I'm speaking with his colleagues in order to gain a clearer picture of Nick's years as a CSI, and to understand what may have brought on the PTSD symptoms."

"Yes, when Catherine Willows called I began to reflect on my years as Nick's supervisor. Nick is a good CSI, he's efficient, and does his job well, but often his judgment is clouded by emotions. This is why he's in this current state, why he's suffering from a stress disorder. You see, Dr. Heitker, it is imperative that a good investigator put all emotions aside, and only looks to the evidence for answers."

"I see. Do you believe you've always followed that rule?"

"Yes absolutely, the physical evidence tells us what we need to know. If we follow the evidence then the puzzle falls into place. Our job is to solve the case, nothing more, nothing less."

What happens when a case evolves and say…places a CSI's life in jeopardy? Is all emotion set aside then, is the CSI seen as just another victim."

"Well yes and no. It certainly is another criminal case, but for obvious reasons the case takes on a more personal note."

"A more personal note…huh…ok. Let me ask you then, what did the evidence tell you about Nigel Crane?"

"Nigel Crane was a stalker who wanted to take over Nick's life. Maslow's hierarchy of needs best explains Crane's obsession with Nick."

"Does it really?"

"Yes; absolutely."

"So let me understand, you believe Nigel Crane was trying to fulfill his needs through Maslow's theory. His Physiological and Safety needs; his need for Love and Belonging; his Esteem and Self-Actualization would all be met if he became Nick, if in the end he eliminated Nick."

"Yes. I think the evidence is quite obvious when it comes to Nigel Crane. All of his needs would be met if he eliminated Nick and took over his life."

"Ok, that's a solid theory on your part, but let me throw a fly in the ointment. Let's assume Crane fulfilled his most basic needs, his  
Physiological needs of food, water, his most base needs. He met most of his Safety needs, he was employed, and his physical health and property needs were met. I do however question his Security of Body (his personal safety) because that certainly was non-existent given his actions. Don't you agree?"

"I would have to study the case further."

_(Grissom was becoming agitated with my questioning of his hypothesis...I suppose it hurts when the shoe's on the other foot.)_

"I have studied the case Dr. Grissom, and I can tell you the Loving and Belonging level of Maslow's theory fell well short. Crane had no family, and his desire for friendship was not based on companionship. Crane also fell extremely short of the last two levels…Esteem and Self-actualization. Crane had no confidence, no respect for others, or for himself. He had no sense of morality, or acceptance of fact."

"That's your opinion Dr. Heitker, but I still believe Maslow's theory explains the situation best. Crane desired to become Nick, and to do so either he or Nick would have to die. Crane self-actualized himself as Nick Stokes, so yes I believe Maslow's theory fits perfectly."

"I'm sorry to disagree Dr. Grissom, but I'm certain Crane had no concept of reaching a higher level of thinking or being. Yes, Nigel Crane desired to become Nick Stokes, but not because of Maslow's theory. Crane was, and still is, a sociopath with schizophrenic tendencies. He enjoyed intimidating, dominating, and causing fear. He wanted to kill Nick because the voice in his head told him he should. As you know, sociopaths are cunning, and schizophrenic sociopaths are especially cunning…the voices in Crane's head justified everything he did."

"Those are all valid points. I suppose you and I will have to agree to disagree."

"I suppose we will Dr. Grissom. Oh, by the way, do you know where Nick went after your team left the observation room and precinct that evening?"

"I'm not certain, but I think he stayed with Warrick until his house was released as a crime scene."

"No he didn't. Actually no one thought to ask Nick where he was going after."

"I assume Nick complained about this."

"No, he explained what happened in his home that night, and then said he lived in an extended stay hotel until his home was repaired. I put two and two together, and asked Catherine and Sara about it. Quite frankly, I'm appalled no one thought to see to Nick's needs at the time."

_(I wasn't being truthful with Dr. Grissom. Yes, Nick was upset by the treatment he received from his team, but I wouldn't give Grissom anymore ammunition in regards to Nick, and what he perceived as his overly emotional personality.) _

"It's an unfortunate error on our part, but we had other cases. We spent quite some time on Nick's case, and when it was wrapped up the other cases took precedence. It wasn't as if we were ignoring his plight."

"Did you know he sold his condo shortly after, and moved to a new home?"

"No, I can't say I did. Catherine Willows was my Assistant Supervisor, and she took care of the personnel information, I was simply too busy with investigations."

_(The words regurgitating from Gil Grissom's mouth continued to confirm my initial assessment of the man. I was not looking forward to the next series of questions.) _

"Why don't we move forward a few years Dr. Grissom? Tell me about the night Nick was abducted from the crime scene."

"I'm sure you read the files and know the details of the case."

"Yes I do, and I've also watched the videos."

"Then you know what happened. The facts are in the case files, and as you said, you watched the video feed, you know what happened."

_(Dr. Grissom was being evasive, and his attitude was becoming frustrating. If this is the way he's always been, then I now understand why some of his former colleagues call him the ice man. It was time to change tactics.)_

"How did the events of Nick's abduction affect you?"

"Aren't we supposed to be discussing how the Gordon case affected Nick, not me?"

"Dr. Grissom, please don't be obtuse. You must know Nick Stokes, and the rest of your team, always followed your lead. Your reaction influenced them all, especially when the team was brought back together."

"I think you give my influence more credit than what it's worth."

"And, I would argue just the opposite. Let's not get into a pissing match Dr. Grissom, I'm trying to help Nick, not analyze you. Don't take this the wrong way, but quite frankly you're simply a tool for me to gain a clearer perspective of Nick."

"I appreciate your candor doctor. You asked how Nick's abduction affected me."

"Yes, what was your reaction when you first learned of the abduction?"

"I was shocked and concerned. We had very little evidence, and we didn't immediately receive any demands. When the courier delivered the first message to the lab, and we realized what was happening, I was sickened. The video feed told us Nick was buried underground, but we had no idea where to begin looking."

"That must have been extremely frustrating for a man such as yourself, a man of science and investigation."

"We had nothing to go on for hours, and all we could do was wait and watch. As you know, we did finally receive demands from Gordon. I went to the warehouse to deliver the ransom to him, and he had the audacity to toy with me. He tried to get into my mind, cause doubt, and inflict even more pain. He had the nerve to ask me if seeing Nick buried left me feeling impotent."

"And how did you feel?"

"Angry. Gordon wasn't giving me anything to work with. When he showed me the explosives strapped to his body, and told me to step back, my mind screamed: _No don't do it_. Afterwards, when the paramedic was looking me over, I thought: _you bastard, you left us with nothing_. But, that wasn't true. The team dove in immediately after, they collected the evidence, put the puzzle together, and we found Nick."

"Watching the copy of the video feed was disturbing for me Dr. Grissom. Can you explain your emotions as it was happening?"

"Again I was angry. I couldn't believe someone had the impudence to do such a thing, but I had to focus, I had to push down all emotions. Nick and the team were counting on me."

"I imagine that was difficult to do, after all this wasn't just anyone in that makeshift coffin, this was your colleague."

"I've spent years learning to suppress my emotions during a case for just that reason. An investigator has to remain objective, and emotions only cloud your judgment and thoughts."

"Yes, but nonetheless, there must have been a time when you did let your guard down."

"Several times, the first was immediately after speaking with Nick's parents. Their pain was palpable when they saw the video feed of their son. Shortly after they left the room, I went to my office to quietly reflect. I needed to collect my thought in order to solve the case."

_(At this point I thought maybe Gil Grissom wasn't as detached as I perceived him to be, or as he wished people to see him as.) _

"You said there were several times you let your emotional guard down. When did the other times occur?"

"I would rather not discuss them. They bare no weight on helping Nick's current situation."

"Please Dr. Grissom, I won't judge you or think less of your skills as a CSI. In fact, I would be more concerned if you felt nothing."

_(Grissom didn't immediately answer, and I didn't push.)_

"I don't enjoy feeling helpless, and that was exactly how I felt. I felt the same way when Sara was abducted, and especially when Warrick was murdered."

"That's understandable, no one enjoys feeling helpless."

"I remember hours passing, and the evidence we found and processed wasn't leading anywhere. I was beyond frustrated. I went to the A/V lab to check if Archie pinpointed Nick's location from the video feed, and he hadn't. I couldn't think what to do next, so I sat there watching Nick on the video screen as he picked up the cassette recorder Gordon left behind with him. He began recording a message to his parents and us. Sara and Archie were in the room with me, but they had no idea what Nick was saying. I on the other hand knew exactly what Nick was saying. You see my mother was deaf, and I learned to sign and lip read when I was young. It's a handy tool, but one I wish I didn't possess that night. Nick was saying goodbye to all of us, and again I was helpless. I couldn't stop it. Do you know what message he left for me?"

"No, I don't."

"He said he never meant to disappoint me. Why did he say that?"

"Honestly, I don't know. Have you ever asked him why?"

"No. After we found Nick it was over, and there was no sense in dredging up what happened and re-living it."

"But it wasn't over, it isn't over, it's living in the recesses of Nick's subconscious. This last incident, the shooting, brought it all back to the forefront and caused the old nightmares to reappear with a force ten times worse than before. Not talking, suppressing emotions and the experiences brought on his PTSD. I don't care how strong a person is, no one has the capacity to walk away from such experiences unchanged. It's not humanly possible. Nick's abduction changed him, and it changed you and your team too."

"Yes, it did. Don't get me wrong, Nick came back to work stronger, more focused, but he also came back with a more pessimistic attitude, and that wasn't Nick. His sense of humor definitely became more morose, and he became somewhat detached from the team."

"And how did you react afterwards?"

"I like to believe I was the same, but I don't know."

"Did you treat Nick differently after he returned to work?"

_(Grissom paused for quite some time; he was definitely weighing his response this time.) _

"I'm sure I did, everything was different after, but oddly the same. I remember the first night Nick returned to work, and being anxious about his return. The team was called out to a mobile home fire with two fatalities. We were walking up to the scene, and one of the paramedics who treated Nick after he was rescued asked how he was doing. Nick responded: _Above ground Wilcox, above ground_. I remember thinking: _That's it Nicky, show them the bastard didn't take you down. _But now, when I think back to Nick's response, it makes me realize how much he actually did change. The Nicky I met years ago, the kid with endless energy and a thirst for knowledge was gone. Life had kicked him around once too often, and he grew up. He learned something about himself that night, something I don't know or understand."

"Does that bother you?"

"No, not the way you may think. Nick knows many things I don't, after-all he is well read and versed on numerous topics. What bothers me is what he learned about himself while buried underground."

"And that is?"

_(Again Dr. Grissom paused, but this time it wasn't because he was weighing his response, I believe he was reliving the moment. A long sigh escaped, and he began again.)_

"Nick learned his breaking point…he learned he could end his own life if necessary."

"Do you fault him for giving into despair in that desperate moment?"

"No just the opposite, but let me try to explain. We found the site, we knew where Nick was buried and we started digging him out, but he didn't know we were there. Nick's air was running out when Warrick hit plexi-glass and dropped to his knees to brush the dirt away. That's when we saw Nick with the gun beneath his chin, his finger squeezing the trigger. Warrick yelled for him to put it down, and he did, but damn it was close, too close. Twenty-four hours of being buried alive, and Nick held it together. He lived through it all, the terror of waking up underground and realizing what was going on. He understood that every time the light went on his air went off, and he had the presence of mind to do something about it. He fought off panic when the plexi-glass began cracking. When the fire ants started attacking, again he had presence of mind and protected his most sensitive areas. For twenty-four hours he fought his damnedest to stay alive, but then the moment of realization hit, and I have to wonder what that must have been like."

"Did you talk to Nick about this?"

"No, as I said before, I didn't want to dredge it up again. It was over and if Nick wanted to talk about it, he would. Otherwise it was a moot point in my opinion."

"But, you said you wondered what it must have been like in those final moments. Didn't the scientist, the investigator in you, scream for an answer?"

"No."

"But, Dr. Grissom…"

"No! I didn't want to hear the answer! I didn't want to know!"

"Ok, ok, I understand, we'll leave it be."

"I'm sorry for my outburst."

"There's no need to apologize Dr. Grissom."

"I know it seems cowardly on my part, but I honestly didn't want to know. I was afraid of what I might learn, and again left helpless to do anything about it."

"It was safer to push the entire episode aside. A part of you knew if you told Nick it was over…then it was over."

"Yes, I'm sorry to say it, but yes."

"You know everyone thinks it's easy to be the boss, the supervisor, the king, but it isn't. No one gives you a handbook with every correct response written down to every situation you'll face. You work with the tools you have, you make split second decisions, and you pray for the best."

"I suppose that's true."

"Have you spoken to Nick recently, and if so, how did he seem to you?"

"Sara notified me when Nick was injured during the Jekyll case, she explained what happened, and said Nick would make a full recovery. I tried to reach him a few days later, but the call went straight to voice mail. A day or two after that, Jim called and told me about the explosion at Officers Clark's funeral. He said Nick narrowly escaped getting killed again, and needless to say, I wasn't happy to hear the news. I tried to reach Nick again, but was unable. So to answer your question, no I haven't spoken to him recently, and given the current situation it's probably best I don't call."

"It is for the best, for now. Our next few sessions are bound to be intense and arduous. I'm sure you can understand the need for Nick to decompress after and work through what we discuss in our sessions."

"Yes, I understand."

"Can I answer any questions for you Dr. Grissom?"

"No, just see to Nick's needs, and thank you for taking care of him."

"I can assure you, I will do everything in my power to see Nick through. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me. Would it be ok to call you again if needed?"

"That will be fine Dr. Heitker."

"I hope your conference goes well Dr. Grissom, thank you again."

"Thank you."

**End Transcript 7-9-2010:** _With former Supervisor Gilbert Grissom_.

Dr. Heitker released a long sigh as he sat back in his chair, and pressed the end button on his cell phone. The call went better than expected, but damn it was difficult to get Gil Grissom to open up. Bill realized his preconceived notions of Grissom weren't confirmed, but they weren't necessarily dismissed either. When speaking with others he heard Grissom described as everything from a wonderful and genuinely caring supervisor, to a pseudo-intellectual, unfeeling and unmitigated pompous ass. Bill believed the truth lie somewhere in the middle of the two extremes.

Whether Gil Grissom admitted it or not, he wasn't capable of shutting down his emotions during cases. He could fault Stokes for being empathetic and emotional all he wanted, but Gil Grissom had his own weaknesses, the first being his incapacity to truly express his feelings. This wasn't surprising given his upbringing. A deaf mother made for a quiet household in more ways than the obvious. Maybe that upbringing led to Grissom's indifference towards Nick. After-all, Nick grew up the youngest of a large family, and he was probably a bit spoiled. Stokes has an influential family, he was a good student and athlete growing up, and was given every opportunity. He's also likable and genuine. Dr. Heitker imagined Grissom's upbringing as quite the opposite, extremely opposite in fact. Grissom didn't strike him as being the most popular kid, more than likely he was the quirky intellectual that didn't quite fit in. Bill learned, over his years as a therapist, that it's difficult for a person to forget the trappings of being the unpopular, disenfranchised youth. No matter how successful and confident that person becomes in adulthood, sadly the unpopular youth remains at some level.

Bill hoped to speak with Gil Grissom again in the future. Call it a glutton for punishment, but he was certain Grissom had more to tell, more to express. Gil Grissom needed to learn to open up, to let go. Bill knew it would be a difficult task, but he was hopeful nonetheless.

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Hours later, and an ocean away, Gil Grissom sat in a quiet booth in the pub of his London hotel. His index finger idly twirled around the rim of a glass of single malt whisky as he pondered his day. The morning call from Dr. Heitker mentally drained him, and his conference completely fatigued him. Peering into the rich amber liquid of his glass, Gil reflected on his conversation with Heitker.

The doctor was good at his job, and with regret, Grissom knew he revealed more than he wished. Gil's purpose was to discuss Nick, and only Nick, but somehow Heitker brought it around to him. He maneuvered Grissom into expressing not only his thoughts, but his emotions too, exactly what Gil wanted to avoid. The past was the past, and Grissom had no desire to conjure it up or re-live it. The past only led to pain and second guessing.

Anger became Grissom's friend once more as he downed his drink, and motioned to the waitress for another. Dr. William Heitker duped him, and Gilbert Grissom despised being one upped and proven wrong. The list he made about Nick's issues and faults was what they were supposed to speak of…and nothing more. Another lengthy gulp of golden liquid slid down to burn his throat and ignited the flame further.

Thoughts of Dr. Heitker were dismissed after several more single malts. Grissom's alcohol infused ire reverted to Nick Stokes and only Nick Stokes, as he verbally questioned the empty seat across the table.

"For hours and hours you believed we'd we save you. You held out every hope, but then you gave up. Why then? Why that moment? We were coming dammit..."

Grissom wished the memories away, but the sweet truth serum was loosening his tongue and thoughts.

"Two seconds, two more seconds would've changed everything. Damn you Nick Stokes, I watch your world crumble. I saw you protected yourself when the fire ants attacked. Those ants were the last shred of evidence, I know it was painful, but those ants told me everything I needed to know. They were the last piece to the puzzle, we found you because of them. You should've known the ants would lead me to you, but you didn't trust me…did you? You doubted me. You were going to end it all. Two seconds Stokes, two damned seconds is all it came down to."

Another gulp of smooth malt whisky posed more questions to the nonentity across the table.

"After the Gordon case, I've saw the dark wounded look in your eyes. I saw it when you came back to work, I saw it after Kelly Gordon committed suicide, I saw it when Sara was kidnapped, and I saw it when Warrick was murdered. I saw it every time, but I wanted to believe you'd win the war in your head. The war I didn't understand. I wanted to believe you would win the battle. Who's the bigger fool Nicky…you or me?"

Grissom laughed at the question and sank back into the cushion of the booth. The bartender was keeping a close eye on Grissom all evening. He could always spot a sorry soul in need of a cleansing drunk, but it was time for this drunk to head to his room. He called one of the bellboys to lend a hand, and soon Dr. Gilbert Grissom found comfort in the warm soft folds of the down comforter on his hotel room bed.

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Tomorrow would bring an alcohol infused headache for one man, while time zones away, another man would spend his day healing a lost soul. One man would never freely express his emotions, while the other man hoped to keep his emotions in check during a critical therapy session. By evenings end, Dr. Gilbert Grissom would still have unanswered questions about himself, his entire team, and his supervisory skills. Miles away, Dr. William Heitker would finish his day with answers to questions he never dreamt of, and yet, he would still have more.

Dr. Gilbert Grissom and Dr. William Heitker were as opposite as it comes, but they shared one common bond…too many questions.

_**Thank you for reading my story.**_


	12. Chapter 12

**Finally, a new chapter, and it's a long one. **

**Chapter 12**

Dr. Bill Heitker was awakened by a single shaft of sunlight shining on his face through the sheers of his hotel room window. He gave a hardy stretch to awaken sleepy muscles, sat up on the edge of the bed, and wiped the sleep from his eyes. Bill awoke re-energized, even though sleep eluded him in the pre-dawn hours. He knew a challenging day lay ahead, but with every challenge came opportunity. Today Bill would try a different method of therapy, and he prayed Nick would be receptive. Only time would tell.

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In a modest ranch home, miles across town, a troubled man was jarred awake from fitful sleep. _When will it stop, damn I thought the nightmares were over._ Disjointed images played through Nick's mind as sweat rolled off his body. A kaleidoscopic view, of nonsensical images, induced confusion, and the dreaded anxiety that soon followed. He couldn't believe, after so many hours of restful sleep, the nightmares would return with such a force. Nick Stokes ignored all the warning signs in the past, he scoffed at the idea of therapy, but now…now he prayed to find light at the end of this dark tunnel.

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Heitker spent the remainder of his morning and early afternoon going over notes and transcripts. It was nearing 2 p.m. when he gathered up his paperwork and prepared to leave the hotel. The drive to Dr. Gentry's offices was uneventful, no dreaded Vegas traffic. Bill entered the office with a hopeful mindset, but hopefulness soon faded when he saw an anxious and dispirited Nick Stokes awaiting his arrival. One look at Nick's face, and Bill knew the day off from sessions was a mistake. He had hoped the day off would help Nick shutdown the godforsaken nightmares, but that wasn't the case.

Alarmed Heitker asked: "Nick, are you ok?"

"No…no…far from it. I had dreams…I…it was…I…I can't shut it down. The damn nightmares won't go away…they keep repeating…they won't stop."

Nick was headed for a full-on panic attack, and if anyone recognized the symptoms, it was Bill. Lord knows he experienced them enough in the past. Heitker knew the first thing he had to do was get Nick to calm down.

"Let's get out of the lobby Nick, it's going to be ok, take a few deep breaths. Breathe…that's it…come on…with me…deep breath…hold it…ok let it out. Let's do it again…come on…deep breath…hold it…let it out. We're almost to the office…one more time…deep breath…yeah that's it…good job. It's ok…push all the shit from your mind…we're in a safe place…you're safe now. This office is a safe place…your home is a safe place. It's ok, just let it go."

Heitker led Nick to a private office, and into the welcoming embrace of a buttery soft leather chair. Nick kept his head low, and took several more deep breaths to release the stress and calm his racing heart. Dr. Heitker waited for the anxiety to wear itself out. He felt Nick's pain, and it tore at his heart. He wanted to make the pain disappear, but he knew more would follow before this was all laid to rest. Dr. Bill Heitker grieved for the man before him, he was certain this Nick Stokes was far from the person he was a few short years ago.

"How are you doing now, Nick?"

"Better, I'm ok."

"Are you ready to start session, or do you need more time."

"I'm good. We can start now."

"Ok, good. You and I are going to try something a little different today for session. The trauma from the Jekyll case, and the events after, have triggered memories of previous events, and twisted and meshed them into one horrific nightmare. This therapy will allow you to essentially catalog the past, put it in order, and address each incident. Then we'll be able to find methods of dealing with the nightmares, the anxiety, and the stress. Instead of you trying to put the jumbled images together, we're going to use a form of hypnotherapy."

"Hypnosis! I want no part of that Doc."

"Why?" Dr. Heitker questioned.

"I have my reasons, the main being I don't like the idea of you putting unwanted suggestions in my mind." Nick stated.

"This is not suggestive hypnotherapy, but rather regression hypnotherapy." Bill explained.

"Oh that's even better; I can become the next Shirley MacLaine. Hey maybe we can regress back far enough, and I'll discover I was the king of some now defunct country." Nick scoffed.

"First off, do I look like some Hollywood quack doctor, and second, regression hypnotherapy is not a joke. As I explained, this therapy will allow us to walk through the experiences that led up to the PTSD, address each incident, and work through it. I wouldn't suggest this if I didn't think it would work."

Nick didn't immediately reply. His thoughts were on a case he and Catherine worked a while back, where a hypnotist abused her subjects trust. He wrestled with the idea before replying.

"I don't know, it just…it just doesn't sound right."

"Please trust me Nick. I believe this therapy will help." Heitker explained.

"I trust you, it not that. Oh hell let's do it, if it stops the fucking nightmares it will be worth it. But, I got to tell ya Doc, if I end quacking like a duck someday…I will hunt you down."

"If you end up quacking like a duck one day it won't be because of something I did…you're all on your own with that one. Oh, and by the way, I don't specialize in duck quacking patients."

Both men laughed at the absurdity. The tension that only moment's ago was thick in the air, now dissipated. Bill asked Nick to get into a relaxed and comfortable position in one of the overstuffed armchairs. Once Nick was settled, Bill spent some time getting Nick to fall into a completely relaxed state. When he was certain Nick was ready, he clicked the record button on the digital recorder, and began treatment.

**Transcript for: 7-9-2010, 4:21 p.m. **_This is the transcript of my third session with Nick Stokes. All bracketed and italicizes sections are my thoughts, and notes, after reviewing the transcript of the session between Nick and myself. _

"Nick, I'd like you to tell me about the evening you were abducted by Walter Gordon. How did your work day begin?"

_(I had to bring Nick into regression therapy slowly, he needed to believe we were talking as normal, as we had in the past.) _

"I came into work early because I had a ton of paperwork to catch up on. I spent hours working on it, but I finally finished all my reports, and for once everything was caught up. It was mid-shift by then, and I went to the lounge to grab some lunch. I talked to a few techs, but when Warrick came in, we started discussing a case from the night before. After we finished our lunch, we went back to the lab to go over evidence from that case. It was a really slow shift, no new cases came in, and though we knew better, we still joked about it. Swing shift was different from grave shift. On grave you're always busy, but on swing it can be slow all day, but the minute dusk hits it's busy as all hell. Warrick said something about how we really should go to the locker room and get ready for a call out. While we were getting ready, he started telling me about his date with Tina Saturday night, and how some wannabe thugs tried to punk him and his girl while they were waiting for the valet to bring their cars. We were still laughing about it when Catherine caught up to us with two new cases, one case was a trash run and the other was an assault at Strip-O-Rama. She didn't want to pick who got what case, so she told us to duke it out. We usually did rock, paper, scissors to decide cases, but this time we flipped a coin. Lucky me, got the trash run, and I made a bad joke about doing two out of three to decide, but that Warrick had a gambling problem. I turned to leave, but then decided the coin was bad luck, and I tossed it to Warrick.

"What happened next, Nick?"

"I grabbed my kit, and headed out to the crime scene. It was a few blocks off-strip, in a parking lot off Flamingo. I was so glad it was off-strip because I'd be able to by-pass the traffic there. The sky was really clear, the evening weather was finally warming up, and I couldn't wait for the shift to be over because I had the next two days off. All I had to do was take over-all photos, collect the evidence, file my reports, and I was home free. I don't usually turn on the car stereo when I'm driving to a scene, but damn I was in a great mood."

"What song were you listening to?"

"_Lucky Too: _by Bob Neuwirth. The songs all about the luck of Vegas, it used to make me laugh, but now I can't listen to it."

"What happened when you got to the scene Nick?"

"I met up with Officer D.A. Michaels, and he showed me where the _body_ was dumped. It looked like intestines, but I wasn't sure if they were human or not. Michaels was tired of waiting, and in a hurry to get out of there, but I told him it would be a while, we had to wait for the Coroner. Michaels doesn't have a strong stomach, couldn't stand the smell, and had to walk away. I tossed some markers down, began taking over-all photos, but then I heard Michaels puking his guts out. I offered him some gum, but he said no thanks. I had to laugh to myself, the damn fool was puking right by the driver's side door of his cruiser, not the smartest place to let loose."

"What did you do next Nick?"

"I got back to work, began searching the area for more evidence. I found a cigarette butt, and some tire tracks, so I marked them and took photos. I shined my flashlight around to look for more evidence, and that's when I noticed a Styrofoam cup in a plastic bag. It was just sitting by a fire hydrant, and I thought it was odd…out of place. I walked over to where the bag laid, and saw that it was an evidence bag, but not the type we use. I set my camera down, and turned to ask Michaels if he tagged it, but the fool was still puking. I examined the bag closer, and that's when it happened…"

"What happened, Nick?"

"That's when it happened..."

_(Now was the time for regression therapy to begin. Now came the time to push all the barriers aside, and deal with the blocked images that were haunting Nick.)_

"You picked up the plastic bag, you're looking at it. Tell me exactly what happened next, explain it in detail."

"That's when **it** happened!"

"I don't know what **it** is, Nick. You're in the parking lot; you're by the fire hydrant; the plastic bag is in your hand; tell me what you're thinking."

"I'm looking at the bag; it's the wrong type of evidence bag, the wrong tape. It's peculiar. Someone's grabbing me from behind, something's covering my mouth; it smells bad, I can't breathe. I'm fighting back, grabbing, kicking, but I can't breathe. Michaels! Where's Michaels? I can't fight back anymore, I can't yell. Someone's picking me up, tossing me over their shoulder, everything's fading. Where's Michaels?"

"Tell me what you remember next Nick."

"I'm in a trunk…no it's not a trunk…there's windows. I think it's the back of an SUV. Fuck my head hurts, everything's foggy. I can't stop sliding back and forth; my hands are tied behind my back. We're slowing down, turning right. The SUV is bouncing like it's gone off-road. The ties on my wrist, I gotta get them off…they won't come apart. I'm pulling as hard as I can, but the fucking ties won't loosen. Shit…the SUV is stopping, I have to get ready, I have to fight back. When they open the door I have one chance, one chance to get it right. I have to get in position, if I kick out I'll catch them off guard, and then I can run. I have to pull myself up, get ready, yeah that's a good spot…Fuck…fuck no…not again…I can't breathe."

"What's happening Nick, what are they doing to you?"

"The cloth's back, the smells back, they're behind me again. Fight it…fight it…no…not again! Stupid, so fucking stupid, why didn't you see it coming? I can't breathe, it's getting dark again. Fight…fucking fight back! No don't do thi…s…"

_(Nick's voice faded. The imagined ether laced cloth was doing its trick once again, just as it did the night of the abduction. Dear God, how unimaginable that moment of helplessness must have felt. The absolute will to fight back, but the inability to do so. To be so strong yet incapacitated by a simple piece of drug infused white cloth. I waited for Nick to settle back into a completely relaxed state before I began again.) _

"Nick, you're waking up again, where are you now?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do. It's ok, you can tell me."

"My head hurts, I can't see anything. The air is stuffy, I need to sit up. Fuck that hurt."

"What hurt's Nick?"

"My forehead, I hit it on something. I can't move around, I can't sit up."

"Can you tell me what you hit?"

"It hurts."

"What do you see Nick?"

"Nothing, everything's black"

"That's not true, what do you see?"

"Gritty, I have a gritty taste in my mouth; I need to spit it out. Everything's green, a glowing green."

"What's glowing green, where's it coming from?"

"It's on my left side…I found it. I don't understand; I don't know where I am. Wait, there's something else."

"What is it, do you recognize it?"

"My sidearm, it's my sidearm. It's loaded, full clip, one in the chamber. I have to find a way out of here. Oh God, no…no…dirt, glass walls, dirt. What the fuck!"

"What's going on Nick, what's happening?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do. Where you are, think it through, look for the evidence."

"I found it!"

"What did you find?"

"A tape recorder, the old cassette type, where's the play button, there it is…..No! Oh God no…."

"What's recorded on the tape Nick?"

"I'm going to die…I don't want to die here…I gotta get out…Let me out!"

_(Nick's screams were agonizing. His tossing, turning, and fighting for release from his, oh so real, grave were torturous too witness. I wanted to stop the hellishness of it, but knew I couldn't. Nick needed to break down the fortress he built around this traumatic moment. Once and for all it needed to be dealt with, no matter how painful it may be.) _

"Breathe Nick, take a deep breath; calm down. What's going on?"

"A light just flashed on, it's blinding. I can't move around, I gotta get out of here. I'm pushing on the glass, it won't budge. Move fucking move…let me outta here…no, no, no…I gotta get outta here!

_(Again, Nick thrashed around, and tried to get out of the box. He pushed up with his hands, his head, and kicked out with his feet. He was fighting with all of his might, but to no avail. Sweat is rolling off his forehead, and his breathing was rapid.) _

"Calm down, calm down, I have to calm down. Think what to do, figure it out. Damn my head hurts, can't think straight. There's an air vent, a light, my gun…think…think. Why'd the light go out, what are they doing? The air vent, the fans back on, fresh air. Breathe, calm down. Fuck no! Damn light! I can't see again, it's blinding."

"Where's the light Nick, why do you think it keeps turning off and on."

"The lights by my feet, it's screwed into the other side of the plexi-glass. It keeps turning off and on. Someone's watching me, I can feel it."

"Why do you think someone's watching you?"

"I can feel it. I know when I'm being watched. It's hot in here, I'm so thirsty. They've got to be looking for me, the team will find me. Damn you Michaels, why didn't you stop them from taking me."

"Do you think Michaels knew what was going to happen?"

"I don't know…no…maybe. I don't know. Brass will find out, he'll find out. I just want to get out of here. They'll find me, they have to find me."

"Tell me about the light, Nick. Tell me what you did to it."

"It's so hot in here. Enough with the damn light! The fan's connected to the light; the fan's connected to the light. I have to get rid of the light. I can't kick it out, tried that before. I could shoot it out, but damn that's going to be loud. Chewing gum, the gum in my pocket, it's still here."

"What are you going to do with the gum, Nick?"

"Ear plugs. The gum will make my ears damn sticky after, but at least I'll still be able to hear, if I survive."

_(From all the reports I read, Nick's actions were exactly as I imagined. He chewed the imagined gum, checked and readied his imagined weapon, and then fire at the imagined light. In his mind, the plexi-glass coffin became dark, and the fan returned to full-force. What surprised me was the laugh, the jubilant f-you laugh. He had an absolute smug expression. Nick's breathing evened out, and he relaxed and settled.)_

"It's done…fuck-um."

"What happened after you shot out the light? What did you do?"

"Not much to could do. I can't get out, I can't fight back. I can't do anything to save myself. I hope my family and friends are ok, what if I never see them again. I don't want to die here. I don't want to die this way. If I get out of here I'm going to make some changes, I'm going to start living life. God, I hope they find me."

_(Nick was quiet for a while. I can only assume he was lost in thought, and trying to come to terms with the… what if's. Suddenly, Nick began singing.)_

"_It was Christmas is Las Vegas, when the locals take the town. Theresa hit a streak and laid her waitress apron down. She was playing penny poker over at the old Gold Spike…she tired of Texas Hold-em, so she switched to let it ride… _Hey! Hey I'm here! Hey! _It was Christmas in Las Vegas when the locals take the town. Theresa hit a streak and laid her waitress apron down…_ _She was playing penny poker over at the old Gold Spike… _I'm here! Hey I'm right here!"

_(Nick's pleading suddenly stopped, his breath rate increased. He pushed up with his right hand, and held out his left arm, his hand clasping something. According to the reports, this is when the plexi-glass began cracking.) _

"No…no…no… Oh my God. It's going to cave in, it's going to collapse. No…not yet, not now. Damn it to hell…"

_(Sweat began to roll off Nick's forehead again; his heart-rate had to be going through the roof. He struggled to regain control and settle. I've been in many life and death situations, but I can't imagine how terrifying this must have been.) _

"O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven, and the pains of hell; but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, Who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life. Amen. It's time I make peace with this God, because I'm not walking away free and clear this time."

_(The quiet in the room was deafening, just as I'm sure it was that night. I wasn't privy to Nick's thoughts, and I'm not sure I wanted to be. His hands were folded in prayer. This conversation was private, between he and his Maker. Nick then began to feel around, and picked up some imagined item…it soon became clear what he found... the tape recorder.)_

"My names Nick Stokes…if anyone finds this tape turn it into Las Vegas… P.D., there should be a reward. Mom, Cisco, I know this is a lousy way to say goodbye, but it's all I got. I love you, you raised me right, and I'm going to miss you. As for the rest of you guys, I know you did your best to find me. Grissom, I never meant to disappoint you…"

_(Nick was quiet once more.)_

Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh! No! Please make it stop!"

_(Nick thrashed about in the arm chair; it was obvious what moment he was reliving just then. The fire ants were attacking, and the pain and anguish were obvious.)_

"I can't let them get into my ears and nose…think…think! Quick breaths through my mouth; don't let them get in. Oh God, it hurts, it hurts so bad. I can't do this. No, no, no, won't give the bastard the satisfaction.

_(Nick reached into his pocket for something, and then plugged his ears with the imagined object. Next he tugged at his shirtsleeve, and plugged his nose with the imagined fabric. Throughout doing these activities, he blew and spit out, and kept his eye closed tight.) _

"Someone's calling my name, but it's too late, the air's running out. Doc Robbins and Super Dave are standing over me, guess I'm dead now…finally. I'm in the morgue, and Doc wishes they got to me sooner… so do I. Super Dave's going to miss me; that's nice. Doc says he's seen fire ant bites in his time, but nothing like this. Dave's asking Doc if he thinks I suffered. Doc says yes. On three…Uno, Dos, Tres. That fucking song's playing again. No wait! Stop! I'm not dead yet! No, don't cut me apart, I'm not dead! Stop! Make them stop Cisco, my hearts still beating, I can feel it. Nooo! Stop! I'll look great at the funeral…what? Mom can't see like this, not like this. No, no, no…damn…the fan stopped. This is it, I gotta do it. I can't let mom and Cisco see me all eaten up. I have to do it…Robbins or Grissom will do the identification, Mom and dad won't have to see me. God forgive me, but I have to spare them. I can do it, just put the gun under my chin and pull the trigger then it's over. It's over. No! Oh God!

"Nick Stop! It's ok."

_(I had to stop it… I had to stop it right then!)_

"Nick…Nick…its ok. You're safe now, you're not underground anymore. The air is clean and fresh. Relax, deep breaths, that's it, just relax. You're going to remember everything that happened the night you were kidnapped, but the fear and anxiety, the pain and the agony will be gone. The nightmares from that night will no longer plague your dreams. You'll sleep peacefully from now on. Take a few more deep breaths…good. You're going to awaken slowly Nick. You're safe now."

_(Slowly Nick did awaken, and when fully conscious, he broke down. Years of disjointed memories flooded back in crystal clear clarity. All the impenetrable walls were torn down now, and what was left was yet to be determined. It was time to discuss his rescue, the aftermath, and his recovery. I waited until he was ready to speak.)_

"Wow Doc, I feel like I was rode hard, and put away wet…damn."

"I think that's an understatement Nick. To hell and back would seem to better describe it."

"Definitely to hell and back."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's strange, but now I understand the nightmares I've been having. I kept seeing things in my dreams, thing I couldn't explain, but now it's starting to make sense."

"How so?"

"There were always these flashes of incredibly painful white light. I remember the light attached to the plexiglass, I remember shooting it out, but in my dreams the light would flash on and off, and each time some new image would play out. I didn't understand the images, they didn't make sense. One minute I was talking to Warrick and laughing, and the next I couldn't breathe, or fire ants were biting me, or my dad and Doc Robbins were standing over me, and I was dead. I kept hearing someone calling my name, and then I'd hear that damn song playing. I didn't understand any of it, I'm not sure I complete understand it now, but at least it's beginning to make some sense."

"I promise it will all make sense soon. You just have to remember one thing Nick, it will get better. The roadblocks in your mind will fall, and the nightmares will fade. We'll find a new way for you to deal with the stresses of the job, and I promise I won't quit until we find them."

"Thanks Bill."

"You can thank me when we finish, but right now let's get back to what you remember about your rescue."

"Wow, ok, let's see. I remember fighting with the idea of putting a bullet in my head. I really didn't want to do it. I remember my finger tightening on that trigger, but damn I didn't want to pull it. Fucking cowards why to buy it, but I didn't want my parents to have to identify my remains. If I pulled the trigger, Doc Robbins, Grissom, maybe Catherine would do the I.D. I figured they'd save my parents the pain of doing so. No matter what, it would be a closed casket, and my parents would be saved more pain. Hopefully, they'd remember me as I was, and not the way I ended up…ya know."

"But, you still had some fight left in you, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I guess I did…or maybe I was too chicken shit."

"No, a chicken shit would have pulled the trigger. Hell, a chicken shit would have pulled the trigger long before you even thought of doing so. There's no shame in what you thought about doing. No forgiving God would find fault. You were trying to save your family from more pain, and I think your colleagues would've understood…thankfully it didn't come to that."

"Yeah, thankfully it didn't come to that. I remember hearing Warrick's voice, and seeing those flashing lights. At first, I thought I was hallucinating again, but then I heard Rick yell for me to **put that down**, and for some reason I knew it was real. He saved my life…I wish I could've done the same for him."

"It wasn't meant to be Nick, and that wasn't your fault."

"I know, but it still doesn't make it right."

"No it doesn't, and I'd like to give you insight into the grand scheme of things, but that's beyond my knowledge."

"Maybe he's still watching over me, you know, keeping me safe."

"Maybe he's making sure you finish the job you both worked so hard at. Maybe, he knows you have more lives to save, more victims to speak for, more souls to heal."

"Rick would kick my ass if I didn't finish the job, so guess we better get back to it, huh?"

"Yeah, sounds like a good reason to continue. So tell me what happened after Rick told you to put the gun down."

"I wanted out of that fucking box, I wanted out right then, but thankfully they had to kill the ants first."

"Why was that thankful?"

"We didn't know there were pressure sensitive switches attached to Semtex under the box. Killing those damn ants saved my life, killing them bought enough time for Hodges to call about the Semtex, and saved all of us from being blown up. Kind of funny if you think about it."

"Funny now, but I doubt it was funny then."

"Fuck no; I was screaming my head off, and begging to get out. I couldn't stop shaking, panicking, but then I heard Grissom yell at me. He called me Pancho, only my dad calls me Pancho, and I knew I had to man-up. Grissom told me to put my hand on his hand, and God it hurt to move. He explained what was happening, and he made me promise not to move when they opened the box. I did what they asked, but damn I just want out of that fucking box. I wanted to go home; I wanted it all to end…"

_(Nick paused, and I waited.)_

"When they opened the box, I reached for the first person I could find. I needed the contact, a human touch. I begged for them to let me out…please, please just let me out. Rick took hold of my hand, he told me to stay still, and said it would be ok. I took a few deep breaths, and blew them out to calm down. Grissom was yelling instructions to everyone, but I'm not sure what he said. I really didn't know what was going on until he hooked up the rope to pull me out. He told me to hold my breath, and then I smelled and tasted dirt again. Seconds later, I was flying through the air and crashing down on hard ground. I couldn't breathe again, I couldn't catch my breath. When I finally opened my eyes, I saw Rick, Grissom, and Brass standing over me. I couldn't stop shaking, shock I guess. The next thing I remember is being strapped to a stretcher, and the paramedics carting me off. Rick and Catherine were with me in the ambulance, they stayed close. After that, it gets kind of hazy. Rick said the EMT's started IV's and meds, and I remember they put an oxygen mask on me, but the rest is a blur. My parents and Catherine explained what happened after, but I have no recollection of the anaphylaxis, the ventilator or the chilling blankets, and I don't want to remember it."

"You don't need to remember that part, I doubt your nightmares concern that part of the kidnapping."

"No not that I remember."

"Nick, we've been at this for hours, and you must be drained, I think it's a good time for us to stop for the day. You did well and we'll continue tomorrow, but now you need to rest, and we need to see if the hypnotherapy helped."

"I admit I'm toast Doc, stick a fork in me cuz I'm done. Same time, same place tomorrow?"

"Yes, same time, same place. You have my cell number just in case you need to reach me?"

"Yeah, I have it."

"Please, don't hesitate to call if you need me. Don't ignore the signs of an anxiety attack, you hear me."

"Loud and clear, I'll call."

"Go home and rest, are you sure you don't need sleep medication."

"I'm certain. I can't start relying on chemicals to see me through. I have to face the past, and I suppose the future, meds will only delay the inevitable. I have to face the facts, deal with it, and hopefully one day I'll like the guy looking back in the mirror again."

"The reflection in the mirror is a good man; the guy on the other side just has to realize it. If there's one thing I'm certain of, it's this: you are a good man Nick Stokes, never doubt that. I've served with enough good men to recognize the qualities."

"Thanks Bill, that means alot coming from you."

"Just don't forget it, ok."

"I won't. I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll be here…three o'clock."

"Thanks."

**End Transcript 7-9-2010 11:34 p.m. **

**))))))))))))))OOOOOOO((((((((((((((**

Dr. Heitker was drained when they finished, and could only imagine what Nick must be feeling like now. He believed the session went well, given the circumstances, but only tomorrow would tell. Bill would leave any note taking until morning, right now he needed to decompress, and more than just a few hours of sleep. He shook his head back and forth and again thought about the man who just left the office. What strength it took to survive such an ordeal, what strength it took to wake up every day, and return to the job that almost took your life away. Bill wondered if he would have been strong enough to not pull that trigger, if he would have had that much faith in his team to wait out a rescue. No one knows how strong their will to live is until it's challenged, and Bill liked to think he had a strong will to survive, but even he doubted he would have lasted that long beneath ground buried alive. It was a sober thought for Bill, and one he chose not to ponder on too long. Tomorrow he and Nick would continue talking about the aftermath of the kidnapping, and the challenges that brought. Tomorrow they would discuss the new Nick Stokes, the rebirth of a new man.

**Sorry for taking so long to post the next chapter, but it took a long time to write. As always, thank you for reading my story, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Happy New Year! Wishing you love, peace, and good health in 2011. **


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Nick Stokes was exhausted when he flopped down into the comfortable softness of his living room sofa, his keys still in hand, and leather jacket still on. Nick's mind reeled as it attempted to process the information from today's therapy with Dr. Heitker. He couldn't believe how much he actually blocked out from that night so many years ago. He couldn't believe what a nasty game his subconscious mind kept playing. He couldn't believe he didn't recognize the problem sooner. How could he be so foolish? How could he tell Catherine he wasn't the type to sit down and talk about his feelings? Who was he trying to convince, who was he trying to fool. Now the joke was on him, and that thought ate him up.

Releasing a long heavy sigh, Nick pulled himself off the sofa, slid out of his jacket, threw it up on the coat rack, and tossed his keys on the small side-table by the door. He sluggishly walked into the kitchen, and pulled the refrigerator door open. Standing there with one arm draped over the frig door, left-over containers and a carton of milk stared back at him, but he saw nothing. The bright light of the incandescent bulb within shone too harshly for his liking, and he swung the door shut. Usually after a difficult case, or too many double shifts in a row, Nick liked to pour himself a stiff drink, just one. He'd sit back in his favorite armchair, the one with the ottoman, and sip the amber liquid slowing, all the while enjoying the quiet solitude of his living room. The stresses of the day would fade, and the smooth burn of fine single-malt would ease the restless exhaustion. But tonight was different.

Tonight's exhaustion wasn't about too many double shifts or a difficult case, and Nick knew if he poured one drink, it may just turn into two or three, or an entire bottle. The last time that happened was the night after Warrick's funeral service. He was mourning, and still beating himself up for not leaving the diner with Rick…if only he had walked out with him. His logical side knew he couldn't change what happened, McKeen would've gotten to Rick one way or another, but his emotional side was another matter. That night Nick drowned his sorrow and regrets in a bottle of Glenfiddich, and when he woke the next morning the same sorrow and regret remained, only the regret was deeper. No amount of alcohol would bring back his friend, or ease the pain. It was a weak act on his part, and Nick despised weakness in himself. Falling into a bottle was not the answer, it never was. He had no desire to become just another cliché, no desire to become another burned out investigator. He worked too hard, too many years, to become a nameless statistic who once worked as a CSI for Clark County. Nick decided a long hot shower and sleep seemed like the best solution, though the idea of sleep was daunting. What would sleep bring this time…more nightmares, more anxiety…or worse? "_A shower first"_ he thought, "_worry about sleep later."_

Nick plodded into the master bedroom, and went to the dresser to pull out a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt. He then made his way to the en-suite bathroom, and began stripping off his rumpled sweat stained clothes. A quick glance in the mirror showed all the signs of weariness on his face. The stubble growth on his now gaunt features didn't help, nor did the deep circles that seemed to intensify every day. His eyes scanned further down, and settled on the still healing scars from the shooting. He reached his right hand up, and gently rubbed his fingers over the raw skin. Thoughts of that night flashed through his mind, but he willed them away. "_Not now, don't go there man…one problem at a time…one problem at a time."_ He looked up into the mirror again, and stared at the man looking back. Would he ever like that man again, was he really a good man…because right now he didn't feel like it. Nick chastised himself once more for his morose thoughts. "_Get out of your fucking head man, that's a place you don't want to be right now."_

Opening the glass shower door, Nick turned on the faucets, and adjusted the water to a temperature just slightly less than scalding. He picked up his dirty clothes from the floor, and tossed them into the basket he kept in the linen closet. He stepped into the shower and steaming spray, his right hand pressed firmly against the tile wall in front of him, and leaned into the caressing waters that cascaded over his bent head and tired shoulders. A few seconds of standing in the spray turned into five minutes, and then ten as the emotions and memories of the day finally caught up with him. Images of the kidnapping seethed unimpeded through his mind, everything was crystal clear now, no fragmented images. All the past obstructions fell in a deafening crescendo as Nick bellowed his pain and grief. His shoulders shook, and years of unshed briny tears mixed with the fresh cleansing waters. Now everything made sense, now it all became painfully clear.

Pulling his head up from the pouring flow, Nick scrubbed a hand down his face, and pressed thumb and index finger to his eyes to clear his vision. Several deep breathes dispersed of the queasiness, and settled the ache in his stomach. Reaching for the washcloth and shower gel, he began cleansing his body. Soapy suds ran like lava over the taunt lean muscles of his frame. Once finished with the task of washing, he rinsed, turned off the water, and reached for the towel to dry off. The velvety terrycloth swept over his body as wayward droplets dampened the floor. Nick slipped into his boxer's, and gingerly slid a t-shirt over his head and sore shoulder. Steamy vapors rolled into the bedroom when he opened the bathroom door, and he emerged from the mist drained, but oddly refreshed. Nick always found a hot shower cathartic, soul-cleansing, and this bath was no different. He stared at his bed, and the ultimate decision presenting itself…try to fall asleep or admit defeat now, and go to the living room to watch endless hours of late night TV. "_Mind over matter, ya haveta conquer this."_

He pulled back the covers on the king-size bed, and slid into the cool comfort of fine soft linens. His thoughts traveled back to a case he and Catherine worked many years ago. Their heated discussion in the break room about bed sheets, thread counts, and cost, became quite the topic of speculation for a few moments time. In actuality, they were working a corporate embezzlement case at one of the finer hotels on the strip and going over financial statements. Nick was flabbergasted by the amount of money the hotel spent a year on bedding, and he was certain the book cooking began there. Catherine laughed at his naivety, and explained guest at the better hotels expected fine bedding…and that luxury came at a cost. He was certain she was playing him, trying to make him look like a fool.

Soon others joined in on the heated debate. Jim and Warrick came to Nick's defense; they agreed a bed sheet was a bed sheet. Jim said: "You buy em at Wal-Mart, they're cotton, you cover with them, and I pay about twenty bucks for mine, fifteen on sale." All the women in the room laughed heartily, and rolled their eyes. Catherine explained it was all about thread counts, and once you lay upon high thread count sheets, you'd never go back to Wal-Mart for linens. She swore she would never again sleep in a bed with less than a 350 count set of sheets, and that led to more teasing about sleeping, and well…_sleeping_ in bed. Catherine held her own when the teasing began, Nick always admired her ability to do so.

It was all in good humor back then, and Nick gave little thought to thread counts and sheets again. He passed the whole idea off as _a girl thing, _and nothing more_. _It wasn't until hundreds of fire ants feasted on his flesh that he realized how wrong he had been. The sheets on his hospital bed were like fine-grit sand paper against the welts on his skin. When he was finally released from the hospital, Catherine made sure all of his bedding was change to the finest and highest thread count her county wages could afford. Only then did Nick understand the importance of comfort, only then did he realize it wasn't _a girl thing._ He thanked Catherine for her kindness, and to this day, they often raised knowing eyebrows when they spoke of luxurious fine cool linens on a soft bed. It was their own private little joke, all theirs. It made him laugh as he drifted off into blissful sleep.

Disjointed images and nightmares did not invade Nick's sleep this night, and if not for the alarm clock on his cell phone, he may have slept the day through. For the first time in months, maybe years, Nick awoke feeling like his old self. He stretched out sleepy muscles, and scoffed when his stomach growled noisily. A to-do-list for the day began to quickly take shape in his mind. "_First…feed the angry beast. Second…get ready for the next therapy session. Third…call Catherine and thank her once again."_

A part of Nick knew the euphoric high he was feeling would fade as the day progressed, but when he went to the bathroom to begin his morning ritual, the man in the mirror stared back with a hopeful expression…and that was enough for now. Maybe the man in the mirror wasn't such a bad guy after all, maybe one day Nick would like the man again, maybe one day he'd be proud of him again. Maybe one day, but not quite yet.

**Thank you for reading this story. I'd also like to throw out a big Thank You to Queen S; Simply Laura; Alisa123; Nickyfan; Smokey; Rainack; Chill pill, and JennaTN for not only reading my story, but also taking the time to write a review. Your input is always inspiring. **

**Take Care All, **

**Kelli **


	14. Chapter 14

**I know it's really rotten to take so long posting a new chapter, but it couldn't be avoided. Hope you remember what the story is about after such a long time, and that you enjoy this chapter...it's a long one.**

**Chapter 14**

Uninviting gray concrete and smoky drab windows greeted Nick Stokes, as he walked into the non-descript medical building. When Nick entered Dr. Gentry's office, the investigator in him noticed a young couple sitting near the door leading to the private back offices. Discontented and disappointed words spewed from the man's lips, but they were non-violent. Nick ignored their frivolous bickering, no threat of escalation was evident, and so he continued reception desk.

"The nurse will take you right back sir" The receptionist said to Nick.

He gave a brief nod of thanks, and as he walked through the door to the private offices he heard the young man voice a complaint: "Must be nice to just walk right in and be taken care of. Wonder what kind of nut job you have to be to get seen that quickly. I'll be the biggest fucking whack job on earth, if it gets us the hell out of here."

Nick laughed to himself: "_Ya haveta be pretty fucked up to get this kind of treatment…good luck with that. Asshole's probably here because he can't commit or maybe he isn't getting enough…good luck with that too bud." _

His attention was quickly drawn away from the bickering couple, when a sweet soothing voice came from the woman standing before him.

"I'm sorry about that Mr. Stokes. Some of our patients are, shall we say… less than patient. Dr. Heitker arrived a few moments ago; I'll take you back to the office." An attractive auburn haired nurse said with a warm dimpled smile.

Nick returned his own dimpled smile, and thanked her as they walked down the corridor. In the back of his mind he thought: "_Ya had to make her a redhead with a great smile…thanks alot." _Nick smile again, and let out the slightest huff of a laugh.

"It's nice to see you smile Mr. Stokes." The nurse said, as they reached the office.

"It feels good to smile (Nick looked at her nametag)…Janine."

"Call me Janey, Mr. Stokes."

"It's Nick, and thanks Janey."

"Take care, Nick." Janey said, as again, a warm smile lit up her face, and sent a twinkle to her eyes.

"Oh yeah, I'll definitely do that." The words left Nick's lips with a smooth flirtatious grace he forgot he possessed. Janey smiled again, and a beautiful mixture of soft rose and creamy peach colored her cheeks.

With a broad smile still in place, Nick opened the door, and entered the office. Dr. Heitker looked up from his papers, and couldn't help but notice the change in Nick's demeanor.

"Well Nick Stokes, aren't you in good humor today."

"Yes I am, and I make no apologies for it."

"Good for you."

"I have to tell you Bill, I feel better today than I have in a long time. I know I was skeptical about hypnotherapy yesterday, but I was wrong."

"Hold up there partner, let's not put the cart before the horse…if you know what I mean."

"Hey don't rain on my parade, besides I'm not ignorant, I know this euphoria won't last, but damn it feels good."

"The last thing I would ever call you is ignorant, and I'm not saying the euphoria won't last, we just have a few more things to work through."

"I know, but just let me be happy for a few minutes."

"Absolutely, be happy, be over-joyed…have at it. Really, I have no desire to be the cause of further distress by dredging up the past. That being said, you and I both know we have to deal with everything, once and for all, if you're ever going to find equilibrium again. You can't live life with incredible highs and desperate lows, that's not healthy."

"I understand Bill."

"I know you do, but I'd be remiss if I didn't point out the obvious."

"Are we going to use hypnotherapy again today?"

"No; not this time. Hypnotherapy was a tool to work through what your mind was misinterpreting, but now all those scattered images are in order. Your conscious and sub-conscious are working in tandem. What we're going to work on from this point forward is the remainder what caused turmoil and confusion."

"Ok, then I guess we should get to it Doc."

Nick slid out of his jacket, and threw it over one of the chairs by the small conference table. Bill settled into one of two leather chairs across the room, and motioned for Nick to sit in the other. Dr. Heitker set his note pad and pen down on the side table, and as always, asked Nick if it was ok to record their session. Nick granted his consent, and began his ritual of calming himself…a roll of the neck, a deep cleansing breathe, and a sigh of acceptance. Bill began his own ritual. He turned on the digital recorder, and led off with his standard descriptive introduction.

**Transcript for: 7-10-2010, 3:10 p.m. **_This is the transcript of my session with Nick Stokes. All bracketed sections on the hard copy are my thoughts and notes after reviewing the recording._

"Tell me how you felt when you arrived home yesterday. I'm going to assume you were pretty drained."

"I was exhausted when I got home, but to be honest I was anxious about falling asleep. Who knew what nightmares would hit after yesterday's session?"

"That's certainly understandable. How did you address the anxiousness this time?"

"I fell back on an old standard routine. It used to be after a difficult case, or one too many double shifts, I'd stand in a really hot shower and let go of all the tension. I know it sounds ridiculous, but for some reason a hot shower is sort of cathartic for me. It washes the dirt off, the dirt of the job, if you know what I mean."

"Actually that makes perfect sense to me. I'm sure there's days, especially with the things you see daily, when a hot shower does more than just cleanse your body."

"There are days when I never leave the labs, don't go out in the field or get dirty at all, yet death still lingers about. It hangs around ya, and not just in your ole factories, skin or clothes…it hangs onto your being. What can I say…sometimes a hot shower just does it for me?"

"There's alot worse ways to cope with the stress of the job."

"Oh man don't get me wrong, I'm no angel. I've tried other ways of coping, but I don't like the after-effects. Besides, the same problem's there the next day, so what's the point."

"That's good to hear. I know I don't have to tell you the statistics of alcoholism and drug abuse among members of law enforcement."

"No, you don't."

"Did the shower help?"

"At first it was relaxing and felt fantastic, but then all the images came crashing back. The only difference this time…the images weren't scrambled. Everything was crystal clear, and I hate to admit it, but I broke down for a few minutes."

"Why do you hate admitting to breaking down?"

"It's not that I hate admitting to breaking down, sometimes ya just need to do that. I think what hit me so hard was the realization that my grief wasn't out of sorrow…it was because I finally found release. I actually felt a weight lift off my shoulders, and the tightness in my chest finally eased."

"The anxiety and regret began to evaporate."

"I don't want to say it was gone, but it was better."

"That's good."

"The night-terrors didn't come back last night, hell the nightmares even remained at bay, and for the first time in months I slept sound. I can't tell you how overwhelmed I am by that fact."

"It's like a rebirth of sorts."

"Yes; absolutely."

"I hate to be the pessimist, and ran on your parade again, but we still have a few other situations to work through."

"I think the rest will work itself out eventually."

_(Well denial was certainly back in full force.) _

"No it won't Nick."

"You don't think the Gordon case was the roadblock?"

"No."

"Why? It's what was holding me up, and kept me from moving on."

_(I could be wrong, but I believe Nick actually thought his abduction was the only cause for his PTSD. It was time for him to face some more unfortunate truths.)_

"First: one night of restful sleep does not make for a healed patient. Don't get me wrong, it's phenomenal that you've reached this point, but we're not finished by a long shot. Second: if you can give me one good reason why you just called your abduction the _Gordon case_, we're free and clear to call it a day. Third, and most importantly: what about this last incident, don't you think we should talk about that…or for that matter, Sara's kidnapping and Warrick's murder. I don't want to be the hard ass here Nick, but there's more to your PTSD than you're willing to admit."

"I get that one night of sleep doesn't mean I'm healed. As to your second point, everyone calls it the Gordon case, that's not my fault. I only call it that because they do. And yes, I think we need to talk about the Jekyll case and Clark's shooting. As to Sara's kidnapping, and Warrick's murder, man I've worked through those."

_(A part of me wanted to shake Nick, and tell him to stop denying the obvious. Instead I chose a less physical approach, but one as equally aggressive verbally.) _

"Oh really…have you?"

"Yes, I have. Look a madwoman abducted Sara, just like a madman abducted me, and as far as Rick's murder, there's nothing I could've done to prevent it. Warrick wasn't going to stop looking into the case until he caught all the players, and McKeen wasn't going to let him do that. He would have eventually killed Rick one way or another. I may have prevented Warrick's murder if I left the diner with him that night, but then again, maybe not. Who knows, maybe McKeen would've shot me if I walked out with Rick, and you and I wouldn't be having this conversation right now. It is what it is, Doc."

"I guess I was wrong, we are finished here. Hey, as you said, it is what it is. I guess Officer Clark was just another one of those things. He should've been more careful. Wrong place, wrong time…it is what it is…right?"

"That's not what I meant, and don't you dare disrespect Clark that way."

"I'm not disrespecting Officer Clark, I didn't know the man. Hey, I'm just interpreting your words, Clark's situation was no different than yours, Sara's or Warrick's…it is what it is."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"Do I? I'm sorry Nick, but you make their lives seem inconsequential. It is what it is, everyone has to die sometime, what does it matter?"

"Don't start fucking with my head Bill! I can't do that dance…I…I'm not up to it! I didn't mean Warrick, Sara or Clark are inconsequential, that their lives mean nothing!"

_(It was difficult pushing Nick to this point, I certainly found no joy in doing so, but it had to be done.) _

"Then explain their lives to me, explain how you felt when Sara was kidnapped, explain how Warrick's death affected you. Tell me how you felt after Officer Clark died. Let's make sure we've addressed everything, every situation, and that you are truly ok with what's happened."

_(The anger Nick held so intensely moments before was now fully dissipated, and he continued speaking calmly.)_

"When Sara was kidnapped a part of me was with her every minute. I knew Sara was strong and she'd survive, but I busted my ass to find her, and not because she did the same for me. I did it because she's my friend, and the world wouldn't be the same without her. My only regret is that I didn't help her more afterwards, but then again, she didn't want anyone's help. I could see the meltdown coming, and I tried to talk to her. Shit, who else had a better understanding of what she went through than me, but she didn't want to talk about it. If she had family, or a group of friends outside of work, maybe that would've helped. Honestly I think Sara needed to walk away from the job for a while, I think it was the best thing for her."

"Do you think you should've walked away from the job after you were kidnapped?"

"I did."

"I'm sorry, but I thought you only took a few weeks off."

"To be exact, I took about three months off. I went back home for six weeks, and when I came back to Vegas, I still wasn't quite ready to go back to work, so I took two more weeks off."

_(I admit I was a bit shocked to learn this. It certainly wasn't noted in Nick's personnel file.)_

"Ok, that's good to know, actually that's good to hear. How did it feel to be back home?"

"It was comforting; it's where I needed to go, where I needed to be. I had just spent two weeks in the hospital, another two weeks cooped up in my house, and I couldn't stand it anymore. Grissom tried to talk me into coming back to work, he kept saying how shorthanded they were, and that I needed to get back in the saddle, but I wasn't ready. He didn't understand… at least he didn't back then. Anyway, I was tired of him calling every day to see when I was coming back, and everyone else calling to see how I was doing. I had to get the hell out of Vegas for a while. So I called Conrad Ecklie, explained what was going on, and to my surprise he told me to take as much time as needed. It's funny, the guy I expected to be least understanding…was actually the most."

"I'm glad he realized you needed the time away. You said it was comforting being back home, how so?"

"Home is home, it was comforting being back with my family. They all knew what happened, and they'd ask how I was doing, but they didn't press the issue, they didn't ask a thousand questions. Usually my brother and sister's would start talking about some prank we played back in the day, and that would lead to more over the top stories. We spent hours laughing and ripping on each other, just like we always do. Mom and dad also made sure the extended family kept their distance. My aunts, uncles, and cousins weren't happy with the idea, but once it was explained, they seemed to understand."

"That's good. I know you come from a large family, and I'm certain they were all concerned. They wanted to see with their own eyes that you were ok, but it was beneficial they waited. Your parents made the right choice, though some of your family may disagree. What did you do the rest of the time you were there?"

"The rest of the time I spent outside, in the open air. My parents have a small ranch outside of Dallas, and I put it to good use. By the end of the six weeks I hated leaving my family, but it was time to come back to Vegas. I think my family understood, at least they said they did. I mean my job was waiting for me, the life I made was waiting for me, and I had to get back to it."

"But you didn't start right back to work, why?"

_(My curiosity was piqued.)_

"By the time the plane touched down I realized I wasn't ready to go back to work. There were still some things that needed to be taken care of. No one from work knew I was coming back, and I'm thankful they didn't. Look I love my job, the friends I've made here, but I knew my friends wouldn't understand the things I needed to take care of."

_(Now curiosity was definitely piqued.)_

"And what were those things?"

"Just some personal matters they wouldn't understand."

"That's an evasive answer Nick, and you know I'll keep pushing until you tell me."

"Yeah I know you will, but it was personal Doc."

"I thought we decided to be open and truthful in these sessions, but now you're shutting me out."

"No, I'm not shutting you out. It's just personal, and I need to keep a few things to myself, please don't ask about it."

"Fair enough, when you're ready to talk about them…you will."

"Ah hell…I'll just tell you, but spare me any long lectures after. On the flight back to Vegas I decided I had to do three things before I went back to work. First, I had to talk to Kelly Gordon. I had to look into the eyes of the person who triggered the whole mess. The second thing I had to do was go back to the original crime scene, the location I was abducted from. I had to see it again, in daylight, and try to understand why I didn't see Gordon coming. And, the last thing I had to do was go back to where I was buried. I guess I needed to see it with my own eyes, sort of wrap my brain around it. That's it…let me have it…you can tell me why it was all a shitty idea."

_(I was certainly surprised by this information.)_

"This may surprise you, but I don't think it was a shitty idea. Actually it was a solid tactic, and probably helped you to deal with the enormity of the entire incident. I also understand why you didn't say anything to your friends, because you're right, they wouldn't have understood."

"No, they wouldn't have, but I think doing those three things kept some of the nightmares away for a long time. I admit meeting Kelly Gordon wasn't the therapeutic revelation I thought it would be. I had this idea that if we talked, we'd find some common ground. After all we were both victims in a way, and maybe I could help her in some way. I was a damn fool to believe I could make a difference in her life. She was just as vengeful as her father, they both had their own warped sense of justice, and that's a justice I can't subscribe to."

"Walter and Kelly Gordon had more than a warped sense of justice wrong with them, but you already know that. How did you feel after you went to the scene where it all began?"

"It confirmed what I believed to be true…Walter Gordon didn't act alone. Ether or not, there's no way that man could've hauled me to his SUV, removed my vest, and set-up a fake crime scene without Michaels knowing. His lady friend may have helped him plan it, but there had to be someone else. He had to have some muscle because there's no way the guy could've carried me that far by himself."

"Michaels?"

"The evidence never proved it, and I know Jim checked him out, but come on…who else could it be. Why didn't Michaels know about a large white SUV parked in the side alley? Why didn't he check it out? Michaels may have been puking his guts out, but there's no way he could have missed me being grabbed or the rest of the crime scene staged…no way. The guys not the brightest bulb in the pack, but he had to know what was going on."

"Have you ever talked to Michaels?"

"No, and quite frankly, right after it happened, I didn't want to talk to him. He tried calling me a few times, but I really wasn't ready to talk, nor to forgive him I guess. By the time I wanted to talk, and ask him some questions, he left the force and disappeared. Brass tried his damnedest to find him, called in every favor he had, but Michaels vanished. I know he was involved, Jim knows he was involved, but we can't prove it."

"That has to be disturbing for both of you."

_(This information is extremely disturbing to me, and is a subject I will take up with Jim later this evening.)_

"Yeah, but what the hell can we do? Michaels went off the grid. I know Jim's keeping watch, and I can't stop living because he's out there somewhere. I know what he's capable of, and I watch my back."

"Still, it's unsettling. Let me ask you this: do you think when Warrick was murdered, and you discovered McKeen was behind it, that you almost shot him because he was just like Michaels. Did you believe that if you took care of McKeen, he couldn't harm anyone else?"

"I was so fucking angry, and a part of me wanted him to die, I wanted him to pay for what he did. Rick's son would never know his father, and I make no apologies for wanting McKeen to pay for that. I had my weapon aimed dead to rights, but I pulled the shot."

"So when you told Jim it was a miss, it was because you chose not to kill McKeen, and not because you miss aimed. Do you regret not shooting him?"

"I couldn't shoot him, that would've gone against everything I believe in, and would've made me no better than him. Besides, from what I hear the dickhead is experiencing a living hell in prison. 23 ½ hours a day the bastard sits in a 5x7 cell in maximum security, he get a half hour to walk the yard…alone. If I shot him, his suffering would've ended too quickly. Now we all get the satisfaction of knowing he's suffering every day. Rick was all about justice being served, and I think his soul is resting easy because McKeen is behind bars."

"Do me a favor Nick, sometime tell Jim why you pulled the shot. I think he'd rest a little easier if he knew you had no intentions killing McKeen."

"He thinks I just miss aimed, that I wanted to, and would have shot McKeen?"

"Yes, I think that's exactly what he believes."

_(The concern written on Nick's face was evident. Nick respects Jim, and his opinion of matters a great deal to Nick.)_

"I'll definitely set the record straight with Jim the next time we talk. I don't want him, or anyone else, thinking I'm some vigilante investigator on the payroll."

"Please do talk to him when you get a chance. Now I hate to switch gears back to your kidnapping, but you were going to tell me about going back to the nursery and seeing where you were buried?"

"I'm not sure if I can explain the experience."

"Please try."

"It was…odd. It was odd standing there; it was like being in another world, in another place and time. I was staring at this blown apart hole in the ground, and though I knew what happened there, it was like I wasn't connected to it. It was where I almost lost my life, and I thought I'd feel some sort of emotions standing there, but I didn't. It was just a hole in the ground."

"What emotions were you expecting to feel?"

"I don't know, maybe anger, or pain, or happiness that I survived, but something, anything."

"Did it bother you when you felt nothing?"

"Yeah it did, but what could I do, you can't suddenly feel something that isn't there. Do you think it's unhealthy that I had no emotions when I was there?"

"By that point in time, I think your emotions were spent, you were numb. We talked about this before, but I think it bears repeating. You went through a horrendous experience, and the mind can only handle so many traumas before it has to shut down and wait for the reboot. It wasn't that you were emotionless…it was that you had no emotions left to express. As I said…you were numb. Let me ask you this: if we could go back in time, and stand there looking down into that hole, how do you think you'd feel?"

"Thankful."

"And, what would you have been thankful for?"

"I'm thankful my friends found me; I'm thankful I survived; I'm thankful to be alive; I'm thankful to be alive every day."

"Did you hear what you just said?"

"Umm…yeah...and?"

"I asked you: _What would you have been thankful for? _ What would you have been thankful for, not what are you thankful for. I posed the question in past tense, but you answered in present tense. A few days ago, your response would've been in the past tense no matter what. A few days ago, everything about your life was in the past tense, you were living and re-living the past, but today you took a step into the present. That's an enormous step forward, that's progress Nick, solid progress."

"You're kidding, right?"

"I wouldn't joke about something this important. This is solid progress, but we still have work to do. Would you like to continue on to the events of the Jekyll case, or would you prefer to stop for the day and resume tomorrow?"

"Let's continue. I'd prefer to keep moving forward, because reliving the past sure as hell isn't a healthy place to stay."

"You're right it's not, so let's move forward."

"Let's do it."

"Nick, I've read all the files for the Jekyll case, and I understand what transpired and led you, Ray Langston, and Officer Frank Clark to the restaurant that night. I know the criminal and forensic details of the case, but I'd like you to tell me about what you experienced."

"Whew…ok. Umm, I'll try. Where do you want me to begin Doc?"

_(I didn't immediately reply. A part of me wished we had stopped for the day, I worried this may be too much for Nick. The other part of me was proud of the strength and perseverance Nick possessed, and his need to move forward to heal.)_

"Start from the point where you entered the restaurant."

"Ok, let see, we found a connection to employees working at high-end Italian restaurants, and Catherine split up the list of about five different places to check out. Greg, Sara, and a patrol unit took the first three on the list, and Ray, Officer Clark and I took the last two. The first place we went to was a wash; no one there fit the profile, so we headed to the second place…DiMasa's. When we arrived the place appeared to be closed, but there were still a few cars in the parking lot. I remember the entrance was unlocked, and we entered. We found Giovanni (Papa) DiMasa sitting at one of the tables doing paperwork. He said something about the kitchen being closed, but once we explained who we were, he became more than helpful. He said: _It's always an honor to help out the Las Vegas Police Department…the greatest in the world._ I've heard lines like that before, and wasn't impressed. I continued questioning him, asked him if he worked at a place called Vennetti's, and he said he managed the place. We finally had a slim connection to Jekyll. Ray asked Papa if he managed this restaurant (DiMasa's) and Giovanni said he owned it. I remember he offered us a glass of wine, but we were on duty and refused, and he said something to the extent of _who would know_. Anyway he called out to someone, and when the guy came out, he introduced him as Charlie…the cook. At that point, Ray and I didn't realize who Charlie really was. I remember we asked a few more questions, and suddenly Papa DiMasa was cringing in pain. Ray immediately picking up on it, but DiMasa brushed it aside, and I went on to ask him about the restaurants employee records and our need to review them. He consented, but then another wave of pain hit DiMasa. Charlie (the cook) was just walking up to the table with the wine and glasses, and he told Papa DiMasa: _I'll get it dad…I'll get it_. I thought it was odd that Charlie DiMasa was introduced as the cook, and yet he was actually Papa's son. I didn't get the chance to ask why he called Charlie the cook, because Ray was asking Papa DiMasa how long he had been experiencing the pain, and the conversation turned. I knew something wasn't right, but we didn't have any evidence."

"And as Grissom always told you, evidence closes cases...right Nick?"

"At that point yeah, but in talking to Ray after, we both knew something was wrong, and we should've followed our instincts. In hindsight, we knew the entire situation stunk to high heaven, damn I wish I followed my gut."

"Following the evidence was drilled into you from day one, and that's what you did, even though it goes against what comes so naturally to you."

"Emotions hold no value on the job, ya haveta leave them at the door when you come into work, Doc."

"Emotions and instincts are two very different psychological experiences. In the field, in a crisis situation, emotions can cloud judgment, emotions can get you killed, but natural instinct will save your ass. Look Nick, you can't check your emotions at the door when you clock into work, that's impossible. Certain cases are going to push buttons, you're only human. You're allowed to be angry as all hell, you're allowed to empathize with victims, and quite frankly I would worry if you didn't."

"But see that's just it, I knew something was wrong when we were questioning DiMasa. I knew it! DiMasa's son went back to the kitchen to presumably get the employee files, and even then I knew something was wrong. I should've called for back-up, but I screwed up."

"No you didn't. You were taught to follow the evidence, it was drilled into your head over and over again, and at that point the evidence was unfolding in millisecond increments. You said Ray felt the same way you did, like you both didn't follow your instincts, right?"

"Yeah."

"Dr. Ray Langston has made his livelihood by studying deviant human behavior, and though his gut told him, even he misread the situation."

"Yeah, but I trained Ray for field duty, I'm the one who told him to follow the evidence, that the evidence never lies."

"The evidence doesn't lie, but until you went to the restaurant, until Catherine called, you had no solid evidence. Nick no matter what your gut instincts, you were doing your job correctly. Also, it was Officer Clark responsibility to clear the scene, and even if you pulled Ray and Papa DiMasa out to the parking lot, found safe coverage, Officer Clark was still responsible for yours, Ray's and DiMasa's safety. More than likely he would've attempted to clear the restaurant anyway, that was his job, he knew that, and I doubt he gave it a second thought when he went back to the kitchen. All of you were placed in a hot situation that declined rapidly, and no one can second guess their reactions at that point. I would liken the situation to being in battle. In battle every solider has a job to do, and they know exactly what their job is. Officer Clark knew exactly what his job was, and he did what he was trained to do."

"I know, but I should've called for back-up, I should've followed Clark to the kitchen, I should've had his back."

"There was no way you could've known Charlie DiMasa had a shotgun. In Ray's formal statement he said, and I quote: _Assistant Supervisor Stokes received a call from Supervisor Catherine Willows explaining the familial DNA match of a septic appendix found transplanted in Bernard Higgins to the meat cards (the prosciutto) sent to the crime lab by Jekyll. Assistant Supervisor Stokes asked DiMasa if he recently had his appendix removed, and DiMasa confirmed he had indeed. Assistant Supervisor Stokes __then sent Officer Frank Clark to the kitchen area to check on where Charlie DiMasa went, and he said for me to get Mr. DiMasa out of the restaurant. At that point I told Giovanni DiMasa we would take him to the hospital, and we made ready to leave, but suddenly gunfire erupted from the kitchen area. Assistant Supervisor Stokes drew his sidearm, said shotgun, and yelled for Clark to tell us the situation; to which he received no reply. Again, Assistant Supervisor Stokes yelled for Clark, as he quickly made his way towards the kitchen, and that's when additional gunfire occurred. Assistant Supervisor Stokes returned fire, and as I was pulling Giovanni DiMasa to cover, I saw Stokes get hit and fall to the floor. The situation deteriorated very rapidly, and neither Assistant Supervisor Stokes or I could have foreseen the events that took place…_ Dr. Langston continues on with what occurred next, but the reason why I read this to you, is because Ray confirmed the situation deteriorated rapidly, and neither of you could have foreseen what would happen. As I said, Dr. Ray Langston has studied criminal behavior, especially serial killers, for years and he didn't anticipate what happened that night. Nick, no one blames you for what happened."

"I do, and Frank Clark's family definitely blames me, and they have every right too. I sent him into the line of fire, I didn't have his back. I know the protocols for clearing a scene, and I should've been right behind him. You never send one person to clear a location. I fucked up, I got Frank Clark killed, and to top it off…got myself shot in the process. Fucking brilliant."

"Damn it man stop it! You have to stop blaming yourself! Any cop or investigator who's been in your shoes knows you didn't purposefully send Clark in there to be killed. They know you weren't shirking your duties, or trying to save your own hide by sending him to check on Charlie DiMasa. You had a civilian to protect, and that was your first duty. Officer Clark's family may not understand, but the people you serve with do."

"Yeah plenty have told me that, especially Brass and his detectives, but I've also heard others say I was a coward."

"Then I would say they never experienced what it's like to be under fire. They have no idea what it's like to be shot, to be in pain, yet still have the presence of mind to know you are the only one left to stop Charlie DiMasa from killing his father and Ray. A coward would've never drawn their weapon and ran into the line of fire."

"It all just happened so fast. One minute we're talking to DiMasa, the next all hell is breaking loose, Clark is down, I'm in the middle of a fucking shootout, and two seconds later my chest and shoulder are on fire and everything is going black. It just happened so fast."

"I know it did Nick, and you had no control over what happened. Charlie DiMasa created the situation, not you. Charlie DiMasa killed Clark, not you. Charlie DiMasa is responsible for everything that occurred in that restaurant."

"Yeah, and now he's dead. And before you ask…I don't regret killing him. If that's wrong, then I guess I don't wanna be right."

"It's not wrong, you were only protecting Ray, Papa DiMasa and yourself. You did your job, and if anyone say different, well I'd love to talk to them. Of course, they'd find a long line of people who would love to talk some sense into them."

"Yeah, I guess."

"There is no _I guess_. I'm right on this one, and you can argue all you want, but you did your job. It's time to put the regrets of that evening away, and I know it's easy to say, but you have to move on."

"That may take a while to do Bill, it's still a little fresh, if you know what I mean."

"I understand, but just remember, it will get better. Have you had the chance to speak with anyone from Clark's family?"

"No I haven't. It's best if I keep my distance, give them some time."

_(The dejected, painful expression on Nick's face spoke volumes, and broke my heart.)_

"Point taken, distance and time are best for now. Though, one day in the near future, I think it would be good for you, and the Clark family, if you spoke with them. They need to understand what happened that night, and they need to know you didn't purposefully send Frank Clark into the line of fire. They need to know their loved one didn't die in vain or because you were careless with his life. They may or may not understand. The truth is, they may always blame you for his death, but at least you'll know you did everything in your power to help them through. I truly believe if they understand the circumstances, and how fast everything happened, it will offer them some peace of mind."

"I thought I'd have the chance to speak with the family after the funeral, but they requested that I leave the service, and then all hell broke loose again. I really do want to speak with them, I want to apologize for everything that happened, but right now isn't the time."

"You're right, it isn't. Nick, I'd like to discuss what happened at Clark's funeral service, and what occurred after, but I think it's best if we stopped here for today."

_(Nick was emotionally exhausted. To keep going would've been detrimental.) _

"Yeah, I don't think I'm up to talking about all the shit that went on there and after."

"No you're not; we've worked through enough for today. Again, I know it's easy to say, but try to put what we've discussed today in its place…put the past in the past. We'll meet again tomorrow same time, and as always, you can contact me anytime, don't hesitate to call."

"Ok, will do."

"Sorry I had to be the one to bust up the good mood you were in earlier. I truly don't want to cause you anymore pain Nick."

"I know Doc, but we have to talk about this stuff. I'll be ok."

"Yes…yes you will."

"Night Doc, I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll see you tomorrow Nick, try to get some rest."

**))))))))))))))0000000((((((((((((((**

Dr. Heitker turned off the recorder, and Nick got up and readied himself to leave the office. Bill gathered up his notes and files, and loaded them into his briefcase. He had a few calls to make once he returned to the hotel, and then he too hoped to catch up on some needed sleep. His thoughts turned to the day's session as he left the office.

_I sure hope Nick is able to find peace tonight, especially after this session. My God what this poor man has been through, and to blame himself for something that was so absolutely beyond his control. I pray I'm helping him, but I worry I'm only causing more stress._

Dr. Heitker headed back to his hotel, and made a mental list of who he needed to call once he was settled in for the night. Jim Brass and Catherine Willows definitely, and then Ray Langston. He had a few questions for each of them, needed a few things cleared up, and he needed the information before tomorrow's session. He heaved a heavy sigh as he drove, and he said a silent pray that Nick would soon find peace in his life.

**Thank you for reading this chapter, and I hope it wasn't to mind numbingly boring. I'll try to be a bit more expedient with the next chapter. Sorry for the delay.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Wow! It's been a long time since I posted an update to this story. What can I say, but life has a way of interrupting the best laid plans. I also admit my love of writing CSI fan-fictions is non-existent anymore. This past year, I lost any and all connection with the characters, even my favorites. The dynamic that once was...is lost...(IMO) **

**I will definitely try to finish this story because I do not like unfinished business, but that being said...anyone with ideas on how to finish it, please feel free to send me any suggestions. **

**As stated above, I've lost any connection with the characters, especially after this past season. TPTB need to go back to the what worked the first few years...a procedural drama with an ensemble cast. No shiny big-names who dominate every storyline. Fishburne is a fine actor, but the storylines became implausible and false. The must watch...thrill of what will happen next...is gone.**

**That's my two cents worth on the matter. Sorry for the vent. **

**Thank you for reading and reviewing. I will try to wrap this mindless rambling up soon. I fully admit, and accept the fact, this story blows, and I apologize for that.**

**Take Care,**

**Kelli **

**Chapter 15**

Dr. Bill Heitker settled into his home away from home. _Just another room on the road…should've been a traveling salesman, or better yet a rock star_…Bill thought with amusement. He stretched his tense muscles, and flopped down into the side chair by the large window of his hotel room. Reaching back, he pulled the cord to the traverse rod of the window treatment, and opened the drapery wide. His looked out, and took in, the phenomenon that is Las Vegas. The glitz of _The Strip_ lay before his eyes, the glamorous flash of bright neon, the energy, the luck of the draw, and the naïve hopefulness. In that brief moment, he witnessed every fool's view of Las Vegas, every fool's hope of making it big.

_What a pretty painted face you present, but wipe away the rouge, the neon, and you're just like any other city. A dark underbelly lingers beneath your flash. You eat up all the good ones…you eat them up alive. What a bitch of a city you are. _

Like most U.S. cities, Las Vegas was suffering from economic blight, job loss, failure of the infrastructure, crime rates through the roof, and an abundance of pain and suffering.

_What hope can you hold, Stokes, when every agency and program is cut to the bare bones? You're doing your best, but what a lost cause it's become. How do you do your job, how do you make a difference? _Heitker questioned.

Dark thoughts began plaguing Bill, and from past experience, he knew it was time to decompress…if only for a few minutes.

Heitker leaned over the right side of the indigo blue micro-fiber chair, and retrieved the cherished iPod from his black briefcase. A quick scan through playlist brought up the song he sought. The gentle tones of Gordon Lightfoot's "Beautiful" quickly eased his tension, and thoughts of his beloved Clare skated through his mind. Bill loathed when he and his wife were apart, but often were the circumstances. Clare always understood his absence, she never complained, but Bill missed her dearly. She was his rock and sounding board. She made sense out of the madness and questions that always came tormenting in the night. Clare gave organization to his sometimes disorganized life.

Clare too was a therapist, and earlier in the day, they discussed Nick's case in the strictest of confidence. Everything Clare said earlier made sense, every path was covered, but after Bill's session with Nick it all became jumbled again. He desperately needed his sounding board, but it was much too late to call Clare back East.

_Guess I'm on my own this time. Damn Clare, I don't know what to do. How do I get Nick past the PTSD symptoms? How do I get him to understand nothing in the past was his fault, or of his making? How do I tell him he's making a difference when I'm not sure I believe it? I wish I could call you, but it's far too late tonight. I know…__sometimes I gotta work one out on my own. Sleep well my Beautiful Girl, I'll talk to you in the morning, and I'll be home soon. I love you._ Bill pledged aloud to his beloved.

He propped his feet up on the edge of the bed, and settled back into the chair. Sweet thoughts of Clare embraced him, and though he knew he should be making phone calls right now, he also knew he needed a few moments of peace.

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Across town…Nick Stokes unlocked his front door, reset the alarm system, and set his keys down on the bureau by the door. Shrugging out of his jacket, he tossed it on the end of the sofa, and then sought out his well-worn friend. The cushiony comfort, and buttery soft leather, of the recliner that saw him through many difficult nights over the years once again beckoned. Flopping down into its welcoming embrace, he relished the absolute solitude and silence of his home. There was something to be said for peace and quiet when you earned a living in such a hectic job, in such a hectic world.

Unfortunately, the peace and silence was disrupted by an incredible loud growl from his stomach. _Damn, when was the last time I ate?_

Whenever Nick's mind was preoccupied, or when he was on a hot case, little thought was given to the importance of sustenance. He knew he should eat something, but his thoughts quickly went elsewhere.

_Heitker wants me to talk to Clark's family, and that's all well and good, but what the fuck do I say? How do I explain I didn't intentionally send Clark into the line of fire? How do I explain I should've known what Charlie DiMassa was capable of, that I should've had Frank's back? I screwed up, and I can never apologize for that. I didn't pull the trigger that killed Clark, but I'm just as responsible…I sent him into the lion's den. _

Nick threw his head back, and brought hands up to scrub his face. He was so angry with himself for missing the cues, and for not having Frank's back.

_Everyone on the job knows my past. Frank knew, and I'm sure by now his family knows some of the story. How do I justify my survival? What am I supposed to say: "Sorry Frank was murdered, damn shame he didn't have my luck." Fuck, I survived being buried alive, shot, blown up. I'm still here, but he's gone…explain that?_

Thoughts of that night, and everything before and after, were tearing Nick apart. He understood nothing good would come from replaying these thoughts, hell for weeks he tried to make sense of it all. Lately Heitker was helping, and yes they made a few breakthroughs, but in the end he was right back where he started.

Exhaustion lay heavy on Nick's shoulders as he pulled himself out of the faithful recliner. He shut off the side-table lamp, headed off to his bedroom, and disregarded the usual nightly rituals. What was the point? No amount of relaxation techniques would help. Sleep beckoned, a persuasive mistress if you will, but thoughts of the Jekyll case, Clark's death, and every other event were stronger, and soon tumbled out of control. Should've, would've and could've scenarios were eating him alive. Nick sent up a silent prayer: _Please God…let me find peace tonight…I'm so tired…so tired. _Over and over again, Nick sent up the silent prayer, until exhaustion finally overtook him. Final thoughts of would've, should've, and could've gave up their battle for the night.

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Bill would've preferred listening to his iPod all night, but that would be irresponsible, and though Heitker had his faults, being irresponsible wasn't one of them. Anyone who knew Bill would say he was dependable to a fault, that being said, anyone who knew Nick Stokes would voice a similar opinion. Bill Heitker and Nick Stokes were two peas in a pod, though neither would admit it.

Last mellow notes played out on Heitker's I-Pod, but the soothing melodies offered no resolution to the thoughts running rampant through his mind.

_I don't know how to get Stokes past this final hump. I've counseled many cops, criminalist and firefighters, but his circumstances are very different than most. His PTSD doesn't stem from just one or two traumatic events; his is the culmination of many._

Bill stewed over these thoughts for some time, but in the early hours, a new thought process presented itself.

_My God, how can I be so arrogant? What a fucking fool I've been. I've been treating Nick as just another patient suffering from some horrific experience. In reality, I should've been treating him as a soldier in arms. I should've been treating him as the war weary veteran he is. He may not have served in the military, or served on foreign soil, but he sure as hell has seen more than his fair share of battles. _

This new thought process took Bill aback, and he heaved a heavy sigh. Heitker threw his legs off the bed, slid out of the side chair, and found his cell phone resting on the nightstand. Quickly he pulled up Brass' number, hit send, and moments later Jim's gruff voice answered.

"Brass"

"Jim, its Bill Heitker."

"Bill, what can I do for you? Is Nick ok?"

"Nick's ok, but we had a difficult session earlier."

"Ah shit, I was hoping the therapy would make a difference."

"The therapy is helping, but as you know, every PTSD case is different."

"Yeah, I remember well. Shit my symptoms didn't show up till 30+ years after Nam. It's a crapshoot when, or if, all the shit hits the fan."

"Exactly, and we both know when the PTSD symptoms happen, it's key for us to find the trigger. We also know the Di Massa case, and what happened in the days following, didn't triggered Nick's PTSD symptoms."

"I agree, but what can I help you with?"

"I've read the reports, and I know you weren't on scene when it happened, but you arrived minutes after the shooting. Can you tell me how Nick was when you arrived?"

"Yeah, yeah, umm, let's see…I went out to a B&E at the Venetian around 12:00 a.m. Shortly after arriving at the Venetian, the officer's down call came over the radio. That call gets your attention immediately, and I dropped everything to head to the scene. Di Massa's restaurant was only a few blocks away, and when I arrived there were a dozen other cruisers outside waiting. It was absolute chaos in need of control, so I began shouting out orders, and within seconds we entered the building. Once inside, patrols quickly cleared the building, and we found Papa Di Massa in imminent peril; Patrol Officer Frank Clark mortally wounded; CSI Stokes with a GSW to his left upper chest and shoulder; and the suspect (Charlie Di Massa) dead. Dr. Langston was attending to Papa Di Massa, and I immediately saw to CSI Stokes' wounds as we waited for EMT's to arrive."

"Dammit Jim…come on! If I wanted the I.A. version, I would've asked for it. Nothing you say is on record, hell my sessions with Nick are off record and you damn well know that."

Jim made no reply, and the silence hung on the airwaves between the two cell phones.

"I'm not the enemy, Jim. I'm not I.A., the Sheriff, or the Under-Sheriff. I don't give a shit about official statements. I don't give a shit about either Di Massa, and as bad as this is going to sound, I don't give a shit about Frank Clark or Ray Langston. My only concern is Nick Stokes."

Dr. Heitker paused for a moment to let the facts sink in.

"How was Nick physically and mentally when you arrived, Jim?"

"I'm sorry Bill. It's just officer involved shootings have a way of going south fast, if you know what I mean, and I guess I'm still in protection mode."

"I get it, you're just protecting Nick, and you know I'm with you 110%."

"Here's how it went down. By the time I got to Nick, he was heading into that place between relief and shock. He was in a boat load of pain, and I immediately began applying pressure to his wounds as we waited for the EMT's. I asked him if he was ok, and he said he was fine, but then he turned his head slightly to the right, caught sight of Clark, and said: _I'm sorry Jim, I didn't mean for it to go down this way. I fucked up._"

"What did you reply?"

"I knew he was talking about Clark, but I ignored it, well maybe not ignored it, simply focused Nick's mind elsewhere. I told him Charlie Di Massa deserved to die…he got what he gave. In hindsight I should've faced it head on, but I didn't."

"Did you set the record straight later?"

"I didn't get a chance."

"Why?"

"Shit…Nick was carted off to the hospital, and I wanted to ride along with him, but the Captain of Detectives doesn't get that option. I had to stay on scene. I got word, maybe twenty minutes later, that Nick was being taken into surgery. Three hours after later, Catherine called to tell me he was ok, no complications, and resting in recovery. I remember breathing a sigh of relief, but I still wasn't able to go to the hospital. Like I said, officer involved shootings are complicated, and require hours and hours of paperwork, crime scene investigations, interviews, and outside mediators. It was roughly 2 or 3 p.m. the next day when I.A. finished with me. I caught up with Ray in the hallway of HQ, and we decided to grab a quick drink before we headed to the hospital to see Nick. Damn insurance decided Nicky didn't need to stay in the hospital for more than 36 hours, and he was scheduled to be released the next morning."

"Fucking health insurance, right?"

"Yeah, you can say that again. Anyway, Langston and I were all set to go, but Ray suddenly decided he needed to rub Haskell's face in it before we left, and as you know, all hell broke loose when he was stabbed. Needless to say, I didn't get the chance to talk to Nick, no matter how much I wanted too."

"And then three days later, the two of you were at Frank Clark's funeral."

"Yeah, and again, I planned to speak with Nick after the services, especially after Clark's family asked him to leave, but again, all hell broke loose. I hate to admit it, but after everything happened at the funeral, I forgot about that night at the restaurant. It wasn't until a few days ago, and only after everything began to fall apart, that I realized I fucked up. I wish I could go back, maybe say something different."

"You don't truly believe what you said to Nick that night in the restaurant was the trigger to his PTSD."

"I believe it was a factor."

"Really…? It couldn't be the stalker, the kidnapping, the buried alive, the ants eating away at him, the death of his best friend, or the survivor's guilt he's experienced? Or maybe it was Nick's self-perception of not analyzing and processing evidence quickly enough at Di Massa's restaurant. After all, Grissom always drilled into Nick's head to follow the evidence; the evidence was the only thing that mattered. Or maybe it was the bomb itself at Clark's funeral…maybe that sudden blast sent Nick back to the night he was blasted out of his own grave, a grave Officer Clark would never walk away from. I hate to disappoint you, Jim, but what you said that night in the restaurant was not Nick's trigger…far from it."

"Maybe Doc, but I could've done more. I should've seen the signs long before anyone else. "

"Should've, would've, could've…really Jim? You and I addressed that ideology a long time ago."

"I know, but…" Brass began, but Heitker interrupted.

"Nick was in extreme pain that night, heading into shock, I doubt he heard or understood anything you said. You and I both know that's how it is when you're shot."

"Maybe that was the case that night, but I should've seen the warning signs later."

"You saw the warning signs Jim…you all did…and you all want to help Nick. That's half the battle, and that's the key factor to Nick's healing."

"I just wish it hadn't gone down that way. Nick didn't deserve it. He's a good kid."

"It always amazes me how one demented person, like Charlie Di Massa, can fuck up so many people's lives. They don't just kill their victims, but also everyone involved in one way or another."

"This may sound funny, given the circumstances, but I'm proud of Nick and the way he handled himself that night at the restaurant. I'm also proud of how he handled himself at Clark's funeral. Both instances took a hell of a lot of courage, and that's something no one can teach."

"I agree, and I'm with you, he's a good man. That being said, I still have to figure out exactly what triggered Nick's PTSD. If I figure out the trigger, then I'll have a definitive path to treating the PTSD."

"I think you hit the nail on the head earlier…it wasn't just one thing. First, and foremost, Nick has hefty amount of survivor's guilt. He's also beating himself up for not analyzing the evidence quickly enough to prevent what happened at Di Massa's restaurant. And, I'm certain the bomb blast brought back the night he was rescued, and hell, maybe even Warrick's death…I don't know. The past caught up with Nicky, and it made a muddled mess that slipped out of his control…I get it. I remember, at first, you tell yourself you're lucky you survived, and you are, you know that. But, one day, out of the blue, the flashbacks or some traumatic shit shoves it all back in your face. You try to suppress it, and put it in the past. You tell yourself to quit bellyaching, man-up, you made it through, you survived, but eventually it backs up. Like me, Nick's trigger isn't just one incident, it's a multitude of crap."

"Anyone ever tell you…you should be a trauma therapist Jim?"

"No thanks."

"You could help a lot of fellow soldiers out."

"I appreciate the thought, but I know where I belong. I'm not like you, Bill…I don't have the calling or skills. I'm meant to work here, I'm meant to send my injured soldiers to you. I know my place, and I'm more than satisfied with it."

"Point taken, but when you decide to retire from the job, I'll be glad to take you on as a consultant."

"I'll let you know, but for now, just heal Nicky for me. I love that kid like he was my own, and if you tell him that I swear I'll hunt you down."

"Don't worry, my lips are sealed."

"They better be. Can I help out with anything else?"

"No; not right now. You've helped me out of a deep hole I dug myself into. Honestly, I didn't know what my next course of action should be before I talked to you. Now I've got a game plan, now I know what direction to take."

"You always knew what course of action was needed, Doc. You just had to accept the fact that Nick Stokes wasn't any different than any other soldier out there. Once you accepted the facts, the rest was bound to fall into place."

"It pains me to admit it, but you're right. Shit Jim…I read the reports, I talked to Nick…hell I saw the videos, but I still didn't get it. I let him down. I didn't see the forest through the woods.

"Hey you realize it now. You know exactly what he's going through, and the consequences that come's from his service."

"Damn Jim, I was an idiot. I didn't realize Stokes saw as much, if not more action, than I have. He sure as hell has seen more acts of demented vengeance. He's watched his brothers-in-arm die, sought retribution, and still found no peace. He's watched his mentors, and family fall to pieces, and no matter how hard he tried…he couldn't keep them together. Nick Stokes serves Clark County, Nevada, but he also serves his country. The three of us are cut from the same cloth. We're soldiers, who happen to serve in different branches. I get it now. Nick isn't just a public servant, who happened to suffer some horrendous experiences, no, not at all. He's one of us, he's a soldier."

"The battlefields are very different, but I can tell you the battle itself is the same. We're all just trying to help the weak and defenseless, Bill. So tell me, what's the new plan of action for Nick?"

"Tomorrow we talk about duty, sacrifice, love of the job, and the future. We'll talk about regret, second guessing, and then we'll discuss the triggers and coping with them. I still believe Nick needs to speak to Clark's family. He needs to find some sort of closure there, as does the Clark family. I doubt either will find it right now, but hopefully they will in the near future. I'm going to explain the uphill battle that PTSD brings, and give him the tools to deal with it."

"I have no doubt you'll see Nicky through, you saw an old bastard like me through, and I know that was no easy task."

"Ya gotta point there. Thanks for all your help and insight Jim. Hey, be careful out there, ok?"

"Always do…night Bill."

"Goodnight Jim."

The two men ended their call…Jim off to fight the bad guys, and Bill off to work the details out to his new plan of action.


	16. Chapter 16

**Ripley's Believe It or Not, I'm finally updating this story. Some said it would never happen, but never say never. I apologize for the incredible long delay, and the overpowering writer's block. Hope you can still remember what this story is about, and I hope you enjoy the chapter. Take Care.**

**Chapter 16**

The next afternoon brought together two weary men…one with a new plan of action…the other praying for a way out of the rabbit hole.

Nick Stokes arrived at the non-descript medical office building in a very different frame of mind than the day before. Gone was the euphoric high of yesterday morning, this morning brought back the feelings of hopelessness, and the heaviness that always seemed to linger on the edge.

As he made his way to Heitker's make-shift office, he wondered if he would always feel this way, if he'd always be just another victim caught in the cycle of self-destruction. Every victim prayed for a return to normal life, but it was a slippery ascent at best.

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Bill waited Nick's arrival with a sense of anticipation. Finally, he understood the triggers, the effects, the consequences. The picture was clear, the course of treatment made sense, now all he had to do was implement the new game plan. Heitker was prepared for their meeting, he understood the glitch. He had his duck's in a row…so to speak. He knew this would be a long and arduous secession, but he was prepared and willing to fight.

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Nick Stokes entered the offices weary, tired, yet down deep a small glimmer of hope remained steadfast. Bill greeted Nick with their usual handshake, and without any explanation, he quickly put his new plan of action into place.

**Transcript for: 7-11-10; 3:00 p.m. ** _I chose to start the recording moments before Nick's arrival to avoid the interruption of the process. I was anxious to begin immediately with no interference._

"How're you doing today, Nick?"

"Honestly…I don't know anymore."

"I've found the answers, Nick."

"If you've found a way to _better_, I'm all ears, man."

"I've gotta tell you, it's taken me a while to figure it all out, and I apologize for that, but with Jim's help, I have a solution."

"Really…ya think so?"

"Admittedly, your situation stumped me, and I was at a loss as to how to help you. That's unfamiliar territory for me, but Jim gave me an inside perspective that no case file, or IA report, could ever offer. I'm going to read the transcript from our conversation last night, and normally I'd never reveal such information, but nothing about your situation is normal. I'm breaking protocol just this once, and I want you to listen word for word to his analyses…

**Jim Brass:** "_Here's how it went down. By the time I got to Nick, he was heading into that place between relief and shock. He was in a boat load of pain, and I immediately began applying pressure to his wounds as we waited for the EMT's. I asked him if he __was ok, and he said he was fine, but then he turned his head slightly to the right, caught sight of Clark, and said: I'm sorry Jim, I didn't mean for it to go down this way. I fucked up."_

**Bill Heitker:** "_What did you reply?"_

**Jim Brass:** "_I knew he was talking about Clark, but I ignored it, well maybe not ignored it, more so played ignorant, and I simply focused Nick's mind elsewhere. I told him Charlie Di Massa deserved to die…he got what he gave. In hindsight I should've faced Clark's murder head on, but I didn't."_

**Bill Heitker:** "_Did you set the record straight later?"_

**Jim Brass:** "_I didn't get a chance."_

**Bill Heitker:** "_Why?"_

**Jim Brass:** "_Shit…Nick was carted off to the hospital, and I wanted to ride along with him, but the Captain of Detectives doesn't get that option. I had to stay on scene. I got word, maybe twenty minutes later, that Nick was being taken into surgery. Three hours after that, Catherine called to tell me he was ok, no complications, and he was resting in recovery. I remember breathing a sigh of relief, but I still wasn't able to go to the hospital. Like I said, officer involved shootings are complicated, and require hours and hours of paperwork, scene investigations, interviews, and outside mediators. It was roughly 2 or 3 p.m., the next day, when I.A. finished with me. I caught up with Ray in the hallway of HQ, and we decided to grab a quick drink before we headed to the hospital to see Nick. Damn insurance decided Nicky didn't need to stay in the hospital for more than 36 hours, and he was scheduled to be released the next morning."_

**Bill Heitker:** "_Fucking health insurance, right?"_

**Jim Brass:** "_Yeah, you can say that again. Anyway, Langston and I were all set to go, but Ray suddenly decided he needed to rub Haskell's face in it before we left, and as you know, all hell broke loose when Langston was stabbed. Langston was a fucking fool, too smart for his own good. Needless to say, I didn't get the chance to talk to Nick, no matter how much I wanted too."_

**Bill Heitker:** "_And then three days later, the two of you were at Frank Clark's funeral, and Lord knows, that didn't go as planned."_

**Jim Brass:** "_Yeah, too say the least. I planned to speak with Nick after the services, especially after Clark's family asked him to leave, but again, all hell broke loose. I hate to admit it, but after everything that happened at the funeral, I forgot about the night at the restaurant. It wasn't until a few days ago, and only after everything began to fall apart, that I realized I fucked up. I wish I could go back, maybe say something different."_

**Bill Heitker:** "_You don't truly believe what you said to Nick that night, in the restaurant, triggered his PTSD."_

**Jim Brass:** "_I believe it was a factor."_

**Bill Heitker:** "_Really? It couldn't be the stalker, the kidnapping, the buried alive factor, the fire ants, the death of his best friend, or the survivor's guilt he's experienced? Or maybe it was Nick's self-perception of not analyzing and processing evidence quickly enough at Di Massa's restaurant. After all, Grissom always drilled into Nick's head to follow the evidence. The evidence was the only thing that mattered. Or maybe, Nick's trigger was the bomb at Clark's funeral. Maybe that sudden blast sent Nick back to the night he was blasted out of his own grave, a grave Officer Clark would never walk away from. I hate to disappoint you Jim, but what you said or didn't say that night was not Nick's trigger…far from it."_

**Jim Brass:** "_Maybe Doc, but I could've done more. I should've seen the signs long before anyone else. I knew the signs."_

**Bill Heitker:** "_Should've, would've, could've…really Jim…really? You and I addressed that ideology a long time ago."_

**Jim Brass:** "_I know, but…"_

**Bill Heitker:** "_The night of the shooting, Nick was in extreme pain, heading into shock, and I doubt he heard or understood anything you said. You and I both know that's how it is when you're shot."_

**Jim Brass:** "_Maybe that was the case then, but I should've seen the warning signs later."_

**Bill Heitker:** "_You saw the warning signs, Jim, the whole team did, and you all wanted to help Nick. That's half the battle…that's the key factor to Nick's healing."_

**Jim Brass:** "_I just wish it didn't go down this way. Nick didn't deserve it. He's a good kid."_

**Bill Heitker:** "_It always amazes me how one demented person, like Charlie Di Massa, can fuck up so many people's lives. They don't just kill their victims, but also everyone involved in one way or another."_

**Jim Brass:** "_This may sound funny, given the circumstances, but I'm proud of Nick and the way he handled himself that night at the restaurant. I'm also proud of how he handled himself at Clark's funeral. Both instances took a hell of a lot of courage, and that's something no one can teach."_

**Bill Heitker:** "_I agree, and, I also agree he's a good man. That being said, I still have to figure out exactly what triggered Nick's PTSD. If I figure out the trigger, then I'll have a definitive path to treating his PTSD._

**Jim Brass:** "_I think you hit the nail on the head earlier…it wasn't just one thing. First, and foremost, Nick has hefty amount of survivor's guilt. He's also beating himself up for not analyzing evidence quickly enough to prevent what happened at Di Massa's restaurant. And, I'm certain the bomb blast brought back the night he was rescued, and hell, maybe even Warrick's death…I don't know. Every past experience has caught up with Nicky, and it made a muddled mess that slipped out of his control. I get it, I know how it goes. First, you tell yourself you're lucky you survived, and you are, you know that, but one day, out of the blue, the flashbacks or some traumatic shit shoves it all back in your face. You try to suppress it, and put it in the past. You tell yourself to quit bellyaching, man-up, you made it through, you survived, but eventually it backs up. Like me, Nick's trigger isn't just one incident, it's a multitude of crap."_

Nick sat in quiet contemplation, as he mulled over Brass' revelations. He wanted to offer a quick response, some sort of denial, but Jim's words hung heavy on his mind, and no quick response seemed relevant, or adequate. Nick realized this was a defining moment, the true cross-roads to recovery…or the moment of falling into the place of no return.

Heitker anxiously waited it out, and recognized Nick's struggle. He too, knew this was the make or break moment. His anticipation for a reply was getting the better of him, and as the seconds passed, he began fiddling with a stray string on the cuff of his pants.

A flood of truths, realities, facts, and conclusions came to Nick in a heartbeat of a second. It all made sense, the evidence was in, the conclusion drawn. Nick spared a glance at Heitker, and always the investigator, he recognized Bill's trepidation.

"You can stop pulling the hem out of your pants cuff, Bill. You can also stop worrying…I get it now. I understand what happened."

Heitker quickly recovered, immediately abandoned the stray thread, and gave a respectful nod to the consummate and ever observant investigator before him. He knew his anxiousness and maybe even his doubt were noticed, but nonetheless, he re-established the doctor/patient protocols.

"And, what do you see as the triggers, Nick?"

"Like you said days ago...it's not just one incident, but many. I've read the facts on PTSD, and I know in most cases it's related to one traumatic experience, but there's always the exception to the rule. Just like you, Jim, and many others, I had more to deal with than initially thought. For years, I compartmentalized every bad experience, put the bad in its place, and moved on…or so I thought. You can only shut off the pressure valve so many times before it blows, and mine blew. My mind isn't trying to make sense out of just one incident, just one trigger, but rather…many."

Nick paused, and cleared his throat.

_(A nervous habit, a delay tactic, and one I realized a while back. I waited for Nick to continue.)_

"My flashbacks were a jumbled mess. Every night for months, hell maybe years, I'd see brief flashes of Crane, plexi-glass, ants, dirt, desert, and death…but mainly death. More recently, I couldn't breathe during the nightmares, and then glimpses of the explosions would flash in and out disjointedly…everything became muddled. I thought I dealt with the past, worked through it, put it in its place, but I guess I was just fooling myself."

"You weren't fooling yourself, Nick. You dealt with the events as they happened, but this recent incident brought everything crashing back. You tried to man-up, just like always, but this time the pressure valve broke. No amount of tough guy, cowboy-up attitude, would've shut down the overwhelming complexity of what your mind was trying to process. You crashed, and that's not a bad thing. My question to you is: Why now? What made this last experience the breaking point?"

"I had no idea why. The harder I thought, the deeper I fell, but now I think I understand. Now I get it."

What do you understand now, that you didn't understand before, Nick?"

"I fucking survived…once again. I know it sounds like an easy out to agree with you and Jim about survivor's guilt, and a few days ago, I would've fought against the idea, but now I see the validity of the argument. It makes sense after hearing Jim's statements. I couldn't save Rick or Clark; I couldn't stop Grissom from leaving, or even Sara. I couldn't save the team…my team…my family. They died or left, and I was still picking up the pieces. I kept trying to pretend everything was normal, but it wasn't. I just wanted…"

_(Nick halted expounding further on his thoughts, not an unusual occurrence. I've learned he's very careful in choosing "correct" phrasing. His words and thoughts are always guarded, and given his past experiences with co-workers and supervisor's, it's no wonder. Uncomfortable as it may be, I waited out the pause until he began again.) _

"You know it's funny, for years I've been accused of being too empathetic, too emotional, and eventually I learned to shut that flaw down, especially when it came to the job. Looking back at it today, I think what others considered a character flaw, may actually have been my survival mechanism, my pressure valve. What's even more ironic, the person who criticized me the most…left the job. I didn't."

"Are you angry with them…with him?"

"No!

_(As the denial left Nick's lips, I could see the actual realization hit him__.) _

"Yes! No! I'm not sure."

"C'mon Nick, you and I are all about honesty here, so what is it? The truth is on the tip of your tongue, all you have to do is voice it. Are you angry with them? Are you angry with Grissom?"

"No! I'm not mad. It's in the past. It's over."

"You're full of it. Honesty man. I'm not the PC-police. Spit it out, Nick, have at it! Tell me the gut honest truth, now's your chance!"

"You wanna know…you really wanna know? Yes, I'm angry. I'm fucking pissed off with all of them. Grissom mocked me when I empathized with a victim, or became too involved in a case. Sara passed judgment on me more times than I can count, and Warrick…well I think Rick always saw me as some country bumpkin, and maybe I was when I first came to Vegas…I don't know. Nonetheless, they made me feel foolish, naïve, and I quickly learned to compartmentalize my emotions or face further criticism and reprimand. You know how it goes on the job…feel, but not too much…cry, but not too long…be angry, but never let it show. I learned to follow the rules, and shut it all down. Funny thing is…they're gone, or left the job, and I'm still here. Better yet, I'm the one sitting in a therapist office trying to figure it all out, and hopefully keeping a job I still love. Granted it took my closest friends to shove me to this point, but I didn't run away when the ivory towers fell. I'm still trying working through it."

"You're right, Nick, you didn't run away from your problems, and though reluctant at first, you realized there was a problem. And, that my friend takes courage, whether you want to believe it or not. I've seen the best of the best succumb, fall, and never return, but you didn't do that. You want answers, the investigator in you demands answers, and now we're going to find them."

"I never realized how angry I was with some of my team. Damn, that's a lot to hold in."

"Nick, you addressed every traumatic experience with a…_I can get over this shit attitude; I can see it through to the other side_…and for years you succeeded, but what you never addressed was the anger and guilt. Sure there were moments you'd let the walls fall, like with the McKeen incident, but you'd never let the walls fall completely. You masked your anger, your pain, your grief, your guilt. Man-up or shut-up...right?"

"Sadly, yes."

_(Again, I didn't respond immediately. I could see Nick wanted to say more, it was evident in his expression, but he needed to collect his thoughts, he needed to maintain some sort of control. This was the final bridge to cross, and nothing would stop us from reaching the other side, no matter how painful.)_

"Over the years, I could always feel when the anger was building, and for the most part, I could control it. Nothing good ever came out of anger, never has, and I know that. The guilt, the survivor's guilt, only exacerbates the anger inside. I was Crane's target, and I survived his lunacy, but Pearson didn't. I survived Gordon's insane vendetta, yet Warrick didn't survive Gedda's and McKeen's. I survived DiMassa madness, but Frank Clark didn't. Why did the good Lord see fit for me to survive, but let Rick, Frank, and Pearson die? Why am I still here? What makes me so fucking special? I got nothing more to offer this world than they did. At Clark's funeral, when I realized there was a bomb under that van, I thought this is it…I'm going to die…and I was ok with it. I accepted the fact, and it didn't bother me. That was supposed to be THE moment, blow me up into a million pieces…so be it…"

_(Nick stopped speaking yet again, he looked up at me for a brief moment, and I could actually see the moment when his words, his thoughts, hit him. Nick was ranting, venting, becoming lost in the enormity of it all, and then the realization of what he just stated became evident. He finally understood, in that brief moment at Clark's funeral, that he accepted his own mortality, his own death. Worse yet, he realized he found comfort in the thought, and accepted what he couldn't control. A terrifying thought for anyone. I couldn't guide Nick at this point. This was the secret moment, the one that everyone deals with at some point in life, be it brief or an eternity. I had no choice, but too wait.) _

"I saw the bomb, I knew the destruction it would cause, and then I looked up and saw Clark's family, and the other mourners. I knew I couldn't disarm the bomb, didn't have the skills, but I could get them to safety. Guess I fucked that up too, because more people died, and yet I fucking survived once again. Closest to the goddamned bomb, yet I survived. I don't get it."

"I wish I could give you some solid reason as to why, but I can't. We've talked about this before, and you know death holds no rhyme or reason. It's a cock-sucking whore, and a deceptive fucking bastard. I can give you all the theological reasons, tell you it wasn't your time, that God has other plans, but after everything you've seen, I doubt it would offer any comfort. In my life, I've doubted the existence of God more times than I can count. What loving, forgiving God could stand-by when the world is falling apart…I don't know."

"Thanks for the cheerful encouragement, Doc."

"Yeah, well I never said I had all the answers. If I had all the answers, I would've healed you long before anyone called me."

"Point taken."

"Look Nick, the only thing I can tell you to believe in is the faith, hope, and love of family and friends. They're what brought you through the bad times, and they're still the ones protecting you today. Their love will see you through the difficult times, but only if you ask for help. If that's one of God's gifts, then I have to believe there is a God out there. Belief in a supreme being, some sort of prophet, is up to you. I go with what I know, and I know for a fact, I would be long dead without my family and friends. I know you're scared shitless right now, and with just cause, but you can't stop living because you suddenly accepted your own mortality. Accepting ones eventual death may be a morbid fact, a solemn one, but the true disservice would be to dishonor the memory of those you've survived. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yeah, I get it. I know I've been given a gift, and I need to cherish it, but that's been a difficult task lately, Doc. I know every day I spend in some Never-Never-Land, is a day wasted. It's an affront to the friends and victims lost. I survived for reasons no one understands. I can't change the past, but hopefully I can change the future. As far as me accepting my own mortality…well…in my line of work, I've always known death was inevitable. That being said, and after too many close calls and rescues,  
I began believing the hype about me having nine lives. It wasn't until I saw the bomb in the back of that florist van that I truly made peace with dying. I know we've talked about the close calls, but with every past experience a part of me always held out hope…until that day. It's hard to explain, but I guess a certain type of acceptance washed over me, and my only concern was Clark's family, the other mourners, and my friends and co-workers. For the first time in my life, I accepted the inevitable, and was ok with it. I gotta tell you that was one hell of a revelation.

_(Nick exhaled a long sigh, collected himself, and began again.)_

"After everything was over, after we wrapped up the case, the anger returned. Only this time I couldn't control it, and I didn't want to. Don't get me wrong, I was happy to be alive, yet so angry too still be, and that's fucked up, man."

"It's not as fucked up as you think. Look Nick, you made peace with your own death, you accepted it. You knew, in that brief moment, the end was at hand, and you felt the wave of cleansing peace, right?"

"Yes."

_(Nick eyes began glistening when he admitted the truth.)_

"And that peace, that cleansing peace, it felt good. You warned the mourners; felt the van explode behind you; felt the heat; the darkness hit as you were thrown to the ground. You warned everyone, your job was finished…and that was ok."

"Yes…except it wasn't done. I was still alive and more good people were dead."

"Thus began the vicious cycle all over again…the guilt, the pain, the questions, but more so…the anger. Are you still angry, Nick?"

"Yes."

"What are you angry about?"

"Everything...the whole situation."

"No Nick, that's not it. What are you really angry about?"

"I'm angry Clark died on my watch! I'm angry I gave DiMassa the easy out. I'm angry the asshole didn't stand trial. I'm angry I misread the evidence. I'm angry some new nut-jobs took advantage of us at Clark's funeral. I'm angry…I'm so fucking angry…"

_(At this point Nick was a ball of unreserved fury, and this was exactly where he needed to be.)_

"What are you so angry about, Nick? Come on man, get it out!"

"No! Come on Doc…stop…please stop!"

"Damn it Nick! What are you so angry at?"

"No! That's all!"

"Why are you angry, Nick? Tell me the truth!"

"Shut up! Shut up, Doc!'

"No! What are you so angry at Stokes?"

"You want to know…you really want to know!"

"Yes!"

"I'm…I…I'm fucking pissed off that I'm still here…I'm piss off I didn't die…I was fucking ready…I knew it was my time!"

"And, you were ok with that."

"Three times, three times, I thought for sure I was dead, but somehow I survived. Three's the charm, right? Three strikes and you're out. I was ready, I was ready to go. Shit, after I survived the kidnapping, I made sure I had everything in order…last notes to everyone, to be delivered after my death; my will was taken care of; my debts were caught up; everything was in order. I made sure of it, I left nothing to chance."

"Nothing…except the actual dying part."

"Yeah, that."

"And, you're angry because you didn't die?"

"No! Yes! No!"

"Which is it, man?"

"No! Definitely No! I'm thankful to be alive, I want to live, but I was so certain this time. In those few brief moments before the explosion, I wasn't afraid, but now…now I'm lost. Now I'm back to waiting for the inevitable, and I'm not sure I'll find the same peace when _it_ happens. That odd sense of comfort…I never experienced that before. I have no death wish, Doc, and I'm definitely not suicidal, but damn that sense of peace…it was…I don't know how to explain it."

"I think you just explained it. Let's state the facts here, Nick. Death has come knocking at your door more than once, and every time you fought it. You fought death with all your might, and as you well know from your line of work, you can only cheat death so many times. At Clark's funeral, you recognized the threat and interceded. You're a soldier Nick, you saw your team threatened, and you acted. You knew the consequences, made quick peace with it, and soldiered on. The calm acceptance came because this time you weren't just fighting for your own survival, but rather everyone else's; a group already grieving and suffering. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yeah it wasn't just my life involved, it wasn't about me dying. This time I could make a difference, this time I could save lives vs. picking up the pieces after. If I died in the process, so be it, at least for once I'd save a life."

"Nick, I'm not going to pretend to know what it's like to be criminalist day in-day day-out, it would be foolish of me to do so, but I do know what it's like to be a soldier."

_(A heavy quiet lay in the room. This was Nick's to work through, and minutes ticked past before he quietly spoke again.)_

"Doc, we're taught to say: _I'm sorry for your loss_, and in the beginning you mean it, but after a while, the words seem worthless, and you become jaded when you hear the statement leave your lips. I know it sounds ironic, given my job, but you start to wonder if you're truly sorry for their loss, or if you're actually pissed off because it's another unsolved case on the marker board. That day at Clark's funeral, I wanted a win, I prayed for a win, and I would've given anything to achieve it…consequences be damned. Lately, I've become swallowed up in the dark side of the job. I was coiling up inside, ready to strike out in some way, and I saw no signs of relieve. I was living, I was alive, yet a part of me was dying inside. The sense of purpose was lost, and it pissed me off. I'm still angry Doc, but nowhere near as much as I was."

"Well that's honest. I would've been worried if you said everything was fine."

"Yeah the, _I'm fine, it's all good,_ thing doesn't work anymore, and I'll man-up an admit it. I can't go back to playing that game again."

_(Nick gets it, now the healing process begins.)_

"No, you can't. Male vibrato has its time and place, but it doesn't make you less manly to admit when you're not fine. I believe we've discovered that's not healthy. Anger can be a very healthy emotion, but there's a fine line and then it becomes unhealthy. Over the next few days we'll work on some skills to address the anger, and the stress, caused by the job. I'd still like to set up a visit with Officer Clark's family, if possible."

"I really would like to speak with them, explain what happened, though I'd be lying if I said I wasn't apprehensive to do so."

"That's understandable, Nick. I doubt anyone looks forward to such a conversation. I just want you to be prepared because this isn't going to be easy. It's going to take an emotional toll on you, and Clark's family. Are you certain you're ready?"

"Yes, I can't run away or bury my head. It needs to be done."

"Ok, then I'll talk to Jim and see if we can work something out. Just remember, there's a possibility they won't wish to speak with you."

"I understand, and I'll respect their wishes. Their pain is fresh, and I have no desire to cause them further anguish."

"I truly believe it would be beneficial for both you and them, but the ball will be in their court from this point on."

"If they won't speak with me directly, Doc, do you think it would be ok to write a letter to them? I just want to explain what happened, and that I never would've sent Frank into that situation if I'd known."

"If they won't speak with you directly, then yes, a letter is more than ok."

"Good."

"At this point, why don't we stop for the day?"

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I don't know about you, but I'm wiped out."

"I'm right with you on that account. I'll get ahold of Jim, and in the meantime, I'd like you to think about what you want to say to Clark's family. It will give us a chance to talk about it before any meeting or letter."

"Doubt I'll be able to think of much else. Hey thanks Bill, you know, for everything."

"No problem, Nick, no problem. Until Jim and I work out the details with Clark's family, take the next few days and try to get some rest. If you need to talk or meet-up please call immediately, no matter what time it is. I know these sessions have been painful, but we've made tremendous progress in a short period of time. The PTSD isn't cured yet, but we have a handle on it, and that's a good thing."

"For the first time, in a very long time, I feel like I can finally take a deep breathe. It feels like the weight's lifting, you know?"

"I can tell; I can see it on your face. We're almost there, Nick. It's been a long painful journey, but we're almost there."

"So is this the point where I get to keep asking you: _Are we there yet? Are we there yet_? constantly."

"Only if you want to get put in the time-out seat, and then we'll be opening up a whole new can of worms about infantilism."

"Oh hell no, I gotta enough problems without adding that to the mix."

Bill and Nick laughed until their sides hurt, and then said their goodbyes to each other for the day. Heitker was more than pleased with the results of the day's session, and Nick truly left lighter, and at peace. They both knew there were still hurdles to be crossed, but today was the beginning of a new chapter in Nick Stokes' life.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: Guess what? Still don't own the rights, just borrowing.**

OK, when was the last update on this story? 1900, or was it 1901? I know it's been an incredibly long time since an update, and I'd like to say I had good reason, but come on...Seriously!...It's almost been a year. There's no excuse for that length of delay. Fairly sure no one remembers this mindless dribble, but woohoo here's an update. For what it's worth, at this point, I apologize for not updating. If you remember this story, wow you have a great memory, and thank you for reading it. Again, my apologies for not updating.

**Chapter 17**

The next few days passed quickly for Heitker and Stokes, as they worked through numerous hurdles. Bill Heitker tried to hammer out the details of a meeting with Officer Clark's family, while across town, Nick Stokes battled through what to say to Frank's family. After a week passed with no results concerning Officer Frank Clark's family, Bill Heitker asked Jim Brass to intervene. Jim worked diligently to become a liaison between the two parties, and after much due diligence, Brass negotiated the details of the meeting. The date was set for July 21st, at 7:00 p.m., in Brass' office at HQ.

Jim struggled to understand the Clark's family attitude, he couldn't wrap his brain around it. Brass didn't want to bother Bill Heitker with his questions, and doubts. Bill had enough on his plate with Nick. That being said…some questions demanded answers. In the past, Heitker saw Brass through the worst, and Jim needed Bill's guidance yet again. Brass debated, no fought, with himself on whether to make the call. The need to know finally won out, and he dialed the digits for some needed answers.

After a cordial greeting between the two men, and some genuine ribbing, Brass got down to business. "I don't understand Clark's family. Nicky followed protocol, why can't they understand that. Stokes didn't shoot Clark, a deranged sociopath did. Nicky saved two lives that night, after he was shot. Why in God's name can't they understand that? It was clean, by the book, nothing to hide. Why punish Stokes? This incident had nothing to do with corrupt cops, or a black and white thing, or a CSI and Patrol Officer thing. If Clark's family only met Stokes for a minute, they'd know he didn't play that game. They don't understand! They don't understand that no one could ever punish Nick more than he is right now. This is wrong in so many ways, but the main problem is that Nick is blaming himself, condemning himself, for a situation beyond his control. He followed procedure, SOP, but now it's biting him in the ass, and fucking with his head. Don't they understand, don't they see what they're doing to him?"

"They're in pain, Jim." Heitker explained. "Their grief holds no bounds. We both know, when it comes to the job, there's no rhyme or reason to death, but they're civilians, they don't understand. They don't see death every day, they more than likely never held a brother as he bled out, they never picked up the pieces, or heard the screams of pain, or worse, the silence. They're angry, a deserved anger. They want answers that no official report will ever give them, and that's why Nick needs to speak with them. If you could go back in time and explain to the family of a lost soldier, or officer in your command, what happened the day they lost their loved one, would you?"

"Yeah, yes, more times than you'll ever know." Jim said with regret.

"Frank Clark's family needs those answers too. Jim, trust me, they're not angry with Nick or the department, they don't want to condemn or hang anyone out to dry. They're in pain, they're angry, the man responsible for Frank's death is dead too, and to top it off some other nut job decided to add insult to injury, and cause more pain for their family. All of that being said, when they speak to Nick, they may get the answers they need. Maybe Clark's family, and Nick, will find some sort of closure."

"Closure would be good for all parties involved, but I don't see that happening."

"I understand what you're saying, Jim, I do. Nonetheless, we're going to try our best to help both sides of this tragic situation."

"I just want Nicky to see this all through to the other side. You know what I mean, Doc"

"We'll get him through, Jim, we will."

The two men bade their usual smart ass goodbyes before ending the call, Jim mildly reassured with the answers Heitker gave, and the doctor praying he wouldn't let his friend down.

**))))))))))))))0000000((((((((((((((**

When the evening of the 21st arrived, Jim Brass spent the better part of an hour pacing the halls outside his office at HQ before the scheduled time. Dr. Bill Heitker spent that same time in Brass' office reviewing notes, tapes, and transcriptions, praying he didn't miss anything. Meanwhile, Nick Stokes sat in an office down the hall waiting, and though he was anxious, he knew he had to make peace with Frank's grieving family.

When the doors to the Homicide Unit of HQ opened at 7:01, Jim Brass braced himself for a confrontation. After speaking with the family for a few moments, Jim found a loving, grieving widow, a protective family, all with questions _why_? _Why was Frank there? What exactly was the case about? What happened? Where mistake made? Did Frank have to die? CSI Stokes was the lead, was he at fault? Why did Frank die?_ All were valid questions, and without going into detail about what happened in the restaurant that night, Jim detailed the serial case, and the unrelated case involving the explosion afterwards. He explained he wasn't at the restaurant at the time of Frank's death, and he couldn't confirm what truly happened, but that there were crime scene reports, victim's accounts, and if they chose, there was video and photos, but that he wouldn't recommend viewing those.

Jim wanted to explain Nick's actions that night, defend Stokes, but that was not his place. Nick's actions were his own, and only he could give the answers the Clark's sought.

Mayla Clark, Frank's widow, heaved a heavy sigh after Jim detailed the case and circumstances. She shook her head back and forth a few times, stated she read the crime scene reports, the victim's accounts, and had no desire to see any video or photos. Mayla Clark quietly requested to speak with Nick Stokes, the man who spent the final moments of her husband life with him.

Jim nodded his consent, offered his condolences to the family once again, and left his office to seek Nick out. He dreaded sending Stokes into the lion's den, so to speak. Jim's steps were measured, slow, and filled with dread, as thoughts ran rapid through his mind.

"_Would Clark's family forgive Nick? Would Nick forgive himself? Would either party realize the only blame rest upon the heads of sick sociopath's_?"

"_Funny thing about sociopath's, they're all fanatics, and fanatics are their own special breed. No matter the fanatic's passion, be it religion, politics, some grievance from the past, their parents, or some other fatalistic obsession. They're all demagogues, manipulators of the truth. Fanatics are the devils bastards, sent to wreak havoc on the world." _

Brass reached the office Nick was waiting in, and quickly stored his running thoughts away. He gave a gentle rap on the door before he entered. Jim found Nick sitting in a hard back chair, leaning forward, and elbows resting on knees. When he looked up, Brass saw an untold number of emotions play across Nick's features.

"It's time Nicky." Jim said sympathetically.

Nick gave Jim a half smile, a quick solemn nod, and rose out of the chair.

"I detailed the two cases to them, Nicky. I offered up the crime scene reports and victim's account, but it seems they've already reviewed those. I also offered them a chance to review the video, and crime scene photos, which thankfully they decided not to see."

"Glad they didn't watch the video, or look at the photos, they don't need to see those images. They should remember Frank in life, not like that, not in death. No one should see that." Jim realized, in that oh so brief statement, melancholy not only seeped from Nick's voice, but also from every pore of his being.

The journey to Brass' office was too short for either man's liking, but the destination must be reach, and into the breach they must follow. Before entering, Nick stood a bit straighter, tightened his back muscles a bit more, gave a slight roll of his neck, and reached for the handle to the door that may lead him to salvation….or the great abyss. Taking one last fortifying breath, Nick pulled the office door open and entered.

**))))))))))))))0000000((((((((((((((**

To Nick's surprise, he wasn't greeted with hostile accusations, nor angry contempt. What greeted him was a family lost in grief, with anxious, questioning looks upon their faces.

Jim Brass let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, and quickly gathered himself to make introductions.

"Mayla Clark, this is CSI Nick Stokes….Nick Stokes, this is Mayla Clark." Brass introduced, and did as promised, took a step back to wait.

The two stood staring at each other, neither knowing what to do, or better yet, what to say. Jim stood waiting for the blame and disdain to rain down, but it didn't. Brass took a brief cursory glance at everyone involved, but all he witnessed was stone cold silence. Jim waited, his anxiety level rising tenfold….until….

"I sent Frank back to clear the kitchen, I shouldn't have sent him, I should've gone back there first, I had more experience, more time on the job….I'm so sorry….I'm so sorry….I should be dead, not Frank." Nick let out in one long breath, his head dropping to his chest, his shoulders shuddering in unspoken pain and regret.

Again, Jim waited for the blame game, but none came, and again his anxiety level rose….until….

Mayla Clark reached her hand out to lift Nick's chin up. Tear filled eyes, met tear filled eyes. "Mr. Stokes, Nick, please tell me what happened, please tell me you were with my husband when he died, and that he didn't suffer or die alone."

Jim Brass, and the Clark family, stood in shock as two broken souls reached out to one another. Two broken souls seeking answers, two broken souls asking why?

Nick Stokes and Mayla Clark spent the next four hours discussing _that_ night, and the days following. What happened, and didn't. The moments of regret, those moments of would've, should've, could've. Mayla told Nick about her regret, the argument she and Frank had the night before his last shift, and how important it seemed at the time, but how stupid it was now. Nick told Mayla about his instincts telling him something was off, but brushing instinct aside, and forever regretting it.

Nick described every moment, in detail, leading up to the shooting of Frank, and then Stokes carefully filtered the facts no spouse should hear. Was it evasive? Yes. Did it save her from more anguish, more pain? Yes. She didn't need to know no one was at her husband's side when he died, she didn't need to know he didn't die instantly, or that Nick heard Frank take his last gasp before he died. Nick would live with those last images, those last sounds, and he was ok with his choice. He was ok.

In the end, two lost souls found answers, and though they didn't find peace, may never find peace, they did find comfort. The _why's_ would never make sense to either of them, but maybe that's the way it was meant to be. Maybe all the _why's_ weren't meant to be answered.

Nick Stokes and Mayla Clark left Jim Brass' office drained, still somewhat broken, but realizing the sun would come up tomorrow, and they would see another day through. Mayla and Nick gave each other a warm embrace, promised to remain in contact, and said their goodbyes.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

As Nick left Brass' office that day, he asked for only one favor from Dr. Heitker, Jim Brass, and Catherine Willows. "Please, give me a few days. I need to think, and then make some decisions. I know that's not what you want to hear, but that's what I need. I hope you understand."

Brass and Willows looked to Dr. Heitker for a response, and the doctor quickly took up the reigns. "You take as much time as you need, Nick" the doctor responded. "If you need to talk to me, or Jim and Catherine, you know where to find us, right?"

"Yeah, Doc, I got the numbers. Cath, Jim, please don't worry, I'm truly ok. I just need some time to think. I have some decisions to make, and only I can make them. Thank you for your help, and again, I hope you understand."

Dr. Heitker, Jim, and Catherine all acknowledged their acceptance, and bade Nick a fond goodbye with warm embraces.

**))))))))))))))0000000((((((((((((((**

As the three watched Nick slip out the side door of HQ, and into the ink stained darkness of the parking lot, Catherine was the first to voice her concern to Heitker. "Is he going to be ok, Doc? Is he going to stay?"

"Is he ok…yes…yes…he is. Is he going to stay? Will Nick continue working here? I have no idea. Only he can answer that question, and right now, I doubt he has the answer. As Nick said, he needs time, give him some space. We'll know his answer soon enough."

"You know that's not what Catherine and I want to hear, Bill." Brass stated.

"I know, but it's the best I can offer. This is the part Nick has to work out on his own, and no matter his decision, you have to accept it…and support it. Do you understand?"

"We understand, but you know the wait is going to kill the both of us." Jim quipped.

"You and me both, brother…you and me both." Heitker replied.

**))))))))))))))0000000((((((((((((((**

The days following Nick's meeting with Mayla Clark was spent in quiet reflection. He accepted the fact he was not responsible for the acts of madmen, he knew he had no control over their actions, but that still didn't mean he didn't suffered from regret. The regrets still clouded his mind, no matter how much the heart wanted to make it clear he wasn't at fault. The mind and heart were locked in a battle with each other, and which would be the victor, was yet to be decided.

The mind said he could've done more, read the signs quicker, responded faster, made better choices. The heart said he did the best he could, given the circumstance. The heart said he was a good CSI, and he never meant for Clark or anyone else to die or be injured. But, as quickly as the heart made that statement…the mind stepped in to say…if he was a good CSI, he would've seen it coming, and stopped it. Over and over again, the mind and heart battled with each other. With every turn and deflection of the doubled edge sword, came another counter defense. For three days, Nick's mind and heart battled with each other…until finally…the logic of it all fell into place.

The scientist finally stepped up and took control. Nick re-read all the reports, reviewed the crime scene photos, suffered through watching the videos, went back to the crime scenes, and re-experienced every minute, every conversation, every sight, sound and smell, every reaction, every bullet trajectory, every bomb blast, every moment of pain, every moment of death, and every moment of the will to survive. When he looked at the photos and videos from Frank Clark's funeral, he realized the CSI in him recognized the circumstances, and reacted as best he could. He totaled up the sum of his actions over those few days, and accepted his actions as sound, solid policing, even if his reactions were not as solid and sound.

Did he make all the right choices?…No.

Would he regret some of the choices he made?...Yes. Always.

Did he have any preconceived notions of the catastrophic events about to happen?...No.

Could he have done better?...Maybe.

Did he learn from any mistakes?...Yes.

Would he do better in the future?...Hopefully…Yes.

Was he just another CSI burn-out?...No!

Could he go back to _the job_?...Could he go back to _the job_?

**))))))))))))))0000000((((((((((((((**

For three days, this thought weighed heavy on Nick's mind. Could he go back on _the job_?

Could he be a productive CSI again? Or, would the past always haunt his every move, make him think twice, be too slow to react when the next situation presented itself? And, the next situation would present itself, it always did.

Would he be of better service as an educator, much like Grissom?

The thought of following in Grissom's footsteps drew him up short. He wasn't Grissom, he didn't want to be like him. He was his own man. He was Assistant Supervisor Nick Stokes, and he had a job to do.

Was he an educator, a teacher?...Yes…But, unlike Grissom, he needed to be in the field to pass on his knowledge.

Nick knew he had to return to _the job_. If he could help one CSI through the inevitable pit falls of this profession, then he still served a purpose, and he had to continue on. He helped people, he sought answers. That was his job; that was his calling. Now, he knew what he had to do. Now, he had his answer.

**))))))))))))))0000000((((((((((((((**

On the fourth day, Nick walked into the CSI labs with slight apprehension, but a new determination. Yesterday, he spoke with Dr. Heitker, Catherine, and Jim about his final decision. To say a great sigh of relief, and an abundance of joy, greeted the news would be an understatement. Nick knew he had apologies to make to his fellow co-workers for his actions, and he hoped they would understand. He hoped they would be able to trust him again, and not doubt his future decisions and actions. He hoped his co-workers would be able to accept him as their Assistant-Supervisor again.

Within days of Nick's return to the job, all of his apprehensions and concerns about his co-workers trust were put to rest. Everyone seemed to understand the circumstances, and understood everything Nick had been through. Were there a few naysayers? Of course, there always is. Nick knew that some people lacked empathy, lacked the ability to put themselves in someone else's shoes. They would never understand, and did their opinion really matter? No. Nick learned long ago that opinions were like assholes…everyone had one.

As the days and months passed, Nick knew he made the right decision in returning to the job. He now had a renewed vigor towards the work he loved, the work he excelled at. He also made peace with the grueling and gruesome aspects of the job. Nick now knew it was ok to talk to someone when the pressures built, when certain cases triggered anger or overwhelming sadness. Real men didn't have to tough it up, brush everything aside; show no emotion. Real men could actually ask for help. He was thankful for the help Jim, Catherine, and his fellow co-workers sought for him. He was thankful for the help and coping tools Dr. Heitker provided him. Before Heitker left Las Vegas for his next emergency patient, he made sure Nick would continue seeing Dr. Colleen Gentry. Bill Heitker and Colleen Gentry consulted, at great length, about Nick's case, and the course of continued treatment.

The day before Bill Heitker left, he and Nick spent a few hours in casual conversation at Nick's home. They talked the gambit of topics, everything from Nick's PTSD, to the job, to football, to the past loves of their life. When it came time for Dr. Heitker to leave, Nick expressed his thanks to Bill.

"I don't know if I would've gotten through this without you Bill. I was in a helluva dark place, man."

"You had good people watching out for you, they knew what to do. Just remember those friends have your back, don't ever be afraid to ask for their help."

"I won't Doc."

"You have the tools to work with now, you understand what happened; you didn't walk away from the helping hands. That takes balls, man, you know? You keep talking with Colleen, she's a good therapist."

"Yeah, yeah, I will, Bill."

"You're a good man Nick Stokes, you're good at your job, and don't forget it. If you need me for anything, anything at all, just call me…any hour of the day or night. I got your back too."

"Thanks Bill, thank you for everything."

"Pleasure to help, Nick."

The two men shook hands, and gave each other the manly bro pat on the back. Dr. Bill Heitker left knowing Nick Stokes would be ok. Nick Stokes closed the door knowing he made it through to the other side of the darkness within.

THE END….

Note:

Yes, it took me forever to finish this story, and I apologize to those who spent the time to read and review it. I really do hate leaving things incomplete, although it may not seem like it. I could give a thousand excuses as to why (work, family, life in general) but essentially, it came down to me not having an end for it. Seriously, I had nothing! Finally, the other day it hit me, and I was able to put it together in a short amount of time. Is it a good end to the story? I guess you'll let me know. Thank you again for taking the time to read my stories.


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